Now I'm in my 80s, my daughters often tell me, when I'm ready to go out, that my make-up needs a bit of attention. I put too much eyebrow pencil on and too much lipstick. The eyebrow pencil, when it's too heavy, makes me 'look like a clown.' Daughters will always be honest with you about your appearance. The lipstick may be all right, but a bit too heavy.
They'll take some of the eyebrow pencil off and maybe some of my foundation. I don't blend it well enough apparently. It feels funny when they tidy up my make-up. I used to wipe ice-cream and chocolate off their faces when they were little. Now they'll wipe make-up off mine. The roles are reversed.
What I've explained to them is that as you get older your sight often gets weaker and you see colours less vividly. They may see the make-up is too heavy but when I peer in the mirror I see faint lines where I put the eyebrow pencil. And where they see bright red or coral lipstick, I see faint colour.
I don't like the idea that my make-up looks odd though so I'm happy for them to adjust it when they're around.
On the other hand they both compliment me a lot on my skin. Even though I drink quite a bit of wine and have done for years, my skin is clear and I have relatively few wrinkles. My forehead in particular is unwrinkled - my daughters say I must use botox, which of course I don't! But I think your skin is largely determined by your genes and I must be lucky there. I don't have an awful lot of faith in skin creams. I use Oreal products quite a lot but I notice that they always have something new out. The newest thing I bought from them is an under-eye cream that comes with a little vibrating mechanism. You put the cream on and use the vibrating thing to massage it into your skin. But it seems obvious to me that if the skincare companies keep producing new creams for your eyes or face or hands then they haven't produced creams that really work. One year they say "This is the cream you need for puffy eyes" or dry skin or age spots. If it really was though, they wouldn't produce a new one the year after.
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est coming to terms with aging. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est coming to terms with aging. Afficher tous les articles
mardi 9 novembre 2010
Fear of Getting Older? It's The Indignities That Are Most Worrying
In September and November 2010 I lost two old friends. One was in his nineties and died unexpectedly after a stomach operation. (Or at least, as unexpectedly as possible after ninety.) The other was, like me, in her eighties. A very dear friend for many years, she fell and hit her head one day and died just a few days afterwards.
When people die suddenly, even if they're old, it's a shock. In my experience though, people start looking for ways to feel better about the loss. "He'd had a good life" they say. Or "at least she didn't get ill and suffer for years." And there's certainly something to be said for that outlook.
I have another old and dear friend who has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimers. She's a year older than me and started losing her faculties about two years ago. At first she would simply repeat an anecdote. The moment she recounted it, she'd say it again. It was clear she had no idea she'd just told me the same story. It was a shock when it started. What on earth was happening to her? She'd always been so bright. After that she began to lose her memory for lots of things and muddle dates and times up. If I invited her round for a drink or to dinner, she might turn up on the wrong day, or call to ask me to remind her when she should be coming round.
Then she began to talk about her mother and father, long dead, as if they were still alive. She started to mislay and lose things and she'd say: "Oh that's my mother -she's taken my make-up again." I'd gently explain that her mother had been dead for a long time and she'd seem a bit shocked but then carry on with what she was doing.
Alzheimer's is obviously a progressive disease and though I didn't know much about it before, I saw it changing her behaviour and getting worse. She had always taken great care of her appearance but started to neglect it without seeming to realise that she hadn't washed her hair or hadn't put her lipstick on. She got progressively confused, frustrated and tearful about everyday things and sometimes I'd call round and find her crying. Once, she invited me to tea and put a plate of bread and paté on the table - but it wasn't paté, it was cat food. Now, although that may sound funny it wasn't because she was unaware of what she'd done and couldn't understand what the problem was when I explained it to her.
I also worried a bit about her beloved cat as I wasn't sure she was remembering to feed it regularly.
Eventually she had 'carers' who came in twice a day. There are all sorts of common sense things, apparently, that English carers can't do these days. They told me they couldn't wash her hair or do her make-up or change her sheets. For over five months - I think they said six months in total - they didn't change her sheets. I think that's scandalous. They were paid a fortune but the excuse was that they didn't have "the right" to go into her bedroom and change the sheets unless she asked them to. Something like that anyway. Common sense should tell the authorities that if you have a woman in her 80s with Alzheimers people sent to help, and paid to help, should take charge, take responsibility, and change the bedclothes.
She began to look progressively dishevelled and no wonder. I used to drive her down to the hairdresser before I had to give up driving, so at least her hair was washed and cut.
Eventually she had a few episodes where she was found wandering in Stoke Park or in Guildford and she had a few falls and after spending time in hospital she was put in a home in Wimbledon. In her lucid moments she told me, often, that she didn't want to leave her home and go into a 'care' home. But in the end she had no choice.
For many people my age I think that's the sort of thing we least want to experience. Toppling over and dying or having a heart attack and dying, are not pleasant thoughts but most of the people I know, of my age, tend to agree the worst thing would be going into a home and declining slowly as you get towards ninety. We enjoy living independently and we don't want to give that up. We may not talk about it very often, especially not to younger people, but we do fear needing someone to spoon food into our mouths, help us to the bathroom or wash us.
Personally I do think a bit about dying - I talked to my younger daughter about this the other week - but there's no use worrying about it. At 81, I may have another 10 years for all I know. For me, the most important thing would not be the number of years I have left but the quality of them. It's not so much the end of life that would worry me, more the thought of indignities I might face as I get nearer 90.
Still, I've had a pretty good old age so far and I was watching David Attenborough the other day in his new TV series on the origins of life on earth. He was born in 1926 and is three years older than me. He was jumping around filming in Australia, Canada and Switzerland. He didn't seem to have any problems scaling rocks or clambering about pointing out fossils on the seashore. That's what I call a good and healthy old age and as he's older than me, it makes me think I've got more active years to come.
When people die suddenly, even if they're old, it's a shock. In my experience though, people start looking for ways to feel better about the loss. "He'd had a good life" they say. Or "at least she didn't get ill and suffer for years." And there's certainly something to be said for that outlook.
I have another old and dear friend who has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimers. She's a year older than me and started losing her faculties about two years ago. At first she would simply repeat an anecdote. The moment she recounted it, she'd say it again. It was clear she had no idea she'd just told me the same story. It was a shock when it started. What on earth was happening to her? She'd always been so bright. After that she began to lose her memory for lots of things and muddle dates and times up. If I invited her round for a drink or to dinner, she might turn up on the wrong day, or call to ask me to remind her when she should be coming round.
Then she began to talk about her mother and father, long dead, as if they were still alive. She started to mislay and lose things and she'd say: "Oh that's my mother -she's taken my make-up again." I'd gently explain that her mother had been dead for a long time and she'd seem a bit shocked but then carry on with what she was doing.
Alzheimer's is obviously a progressive disease and though I didn't know much about it before, I saw it changing her behaviour and getting worse. She had always taken great care of her appearance but started to neglect it without seeming to realise that she hadn't washed her hair or hadn't put her lipstick on. She got progressively confused, frustrated and tearful about everyday things and sometimes I'd call round and find her crying. Once, she invited me to tea and put a plate of bread and paté on the table - but it wasn't paté, it was cat food. Now, although that may sound funny it wasn't because she was unaware of what she'd done and couldn't understand what the problem was when I explained it to her.
I also worried a bit about her beloved cat as I wasn't sure she was remembering to feed it regularly.
Eventually she had 'carers' who came in twice a day. There are all sorts of common sense things, apparently, that English carers can't do these days. They told me they couldn't wash her hair or do her make-up or change her sheets. For over five months - I think they said six months in total - they didn't change her sheets. I think that's scandalous. They were paid a fortune but the excuse was that they didn't have "the right" to go into her bedroom and change the sheets unless she asked them to. Something like that anyway. Common sense should tell the authorities that if you have a woman in her 80s with Alzheimers people sent to help, and paid to help, should take charge, take responsibility, and change the bedclothes.
She began to look progressively dishevelled and no wonder. I used to drive her down to the hairdresser before I had to give up driving, so at least her hair was washed and cut.
Eventually she had a few episodes where she was found wandering in Stoke Park or in Guildford and she had a few falls and after spending time in hospital she was put in a home in Wimbledon. In her lucid moments she told me, often, that she didn't want to leave her home and go into a 'care' home. But in the end she had no choice.
For many people my age I think that's the sort of thing we least want to experience. Toppling over and dying or having a heart attack and dying, are not pleasant thoughts but most of the people I know, of my age, tend to agree the worst thing would be going into a home and declining slowly as you get towards ninety. We enjoy living independently and we don't want to give that up. We may not talk about it very often, especially not to younger people, but we do fear needing someone to spoon food into our mouths, help us to the bathroom or wash us.
Personally I do think a bit about dying - I talked to my younger daughter about this the other week - but there's no use worrying about it. At 81, I may have another 10 years for all I know. For me, the most important thing would not be the number of years I have left but the quality of them. It's not so much the end of life that would worry me, more the thought of indignities I might face as I get nearer 90.
Still, I've had a pretty good old age so far and I was watching David Attenborough the other day in his new TV series on the origins of life on earth. He was born in 1926 and is three years older than me. He was jumping around filming in Australia, Canada and Switzerland. He didn't seem to have any problems scaling rocks or clambering about pointing out fossils on the seashore. That's what I call a good and healthy old age and as he's older than me, it makes me think I've got more active years to come.
vendredi 5 novembre 2010
Giving Up Driving - When Your Sight Starts to go Your Car Has To Go
For 80 years I had really good eyesight. My children were very pleased for me that it was so good but would occasionally say it wasn't fair that they had contact lenses and reading glasses at their ages while I could still see signs way off in the distance when driving, recognise a friend walking up Guildford High Street from way off and only needed weak reading glasses in poor light.
But things change. If you stick around long enough, your sight starts to fail.
I started having a few odd visual effects around the time I turned 80 - little blue dots everywhere in the morning - and began to have trouble seeing detail in the distance. Like a car coming if I was cossing the road. I saw the optician a couple of times and my doctor referred me to en eye clinic and the people there hummed and ha-ed a bit and eventually told my doctor, after a few months, to tell me to stop driving.
When he told me he looked very apologetic. He knows I have a very active life, go out with friends a lot, visit my daughters and grandchildren, and he knew how important the car was to me.
I had to accept that he said I simply wasn't able to drive legally any more, and I don't think he was suggesting I drive illegally. When you've been driving for sixty odd years, being told you're becoming a danger to yourself and others and have to stop is upsetting. I won't say I cried a bit when I got home, but I won't say I didn't either.
After I got over the emotional side of it, the practical hassles of giving up driving started to hit me. How would I get around? I live outside Guildford and go into town to shop. I go out to see friends a lot. I needed to drive to see my kids and grandchildren. How would I get to the airport for holidays? How would I get to the pub for a pub lunch with friends?
I called one of my daughters and told her the terrible news. "The doctor says I have to give up my car. I have to stop driving."
I think she was shocked to. Both my daughters are used to mum being fairly independent. I listed all the things I wouldn't be able to do until she stopped me and said we should look at it differently.
Firstly, she told me to accept it. It was better to give up driving than to hit a car or pedestrian or be hit because I couldn't see as well as I used to. I had to agree with that. Then she reminded me I have plenty of friends who still drive and will help me get about. Next, she said I should think about the money I'd save on petrol, road tax and car insurance - and the money I'd get for the car - and I could put all that this year to taxis.
'You hate parking and you like a drink with lunch or dinner' she said. 'That means you're absolutely made for taxis. Once you get used to callings cabs you'll really like going out without bothering about the car.'
It was just a matter of getting organised, she said. Also, she said, 'You're over 80, mum - you should get some free transport - travel on the buses, and maybe there are council-run services too?'
I told her I'd work on all that. Which I did. The next day I rang her back with quite a lot of news. 'I'm not sure I've accepted giving up the car' I said 'but I've done some sums and research and here's what I've found.'
I'd calculated how much I could put towards taxis. If I sold the car, and since I'd save the road tax and insurance and payments for servicing, I'd be able to afford quite a lot of taxis. I'd rung the local council and they told me about a cheap service for oldies, 'Dial a Ride', which I could book to go substantial distances. If I wanted to go to Wisley Gardens with a friend then I could book Dial a Ride and travel there and back for a few pounds (which I have done since.) I don't know if Dial a Ride is a service local to Guildford funded by the council or if all councils provide the same sort of service as a national thing.
I'd also looked at ordering groceries and household stuff online from supermarkets for free deliveries. I live in a second floor flat so, for some time, it's been a bit of a nuisance carrying bags of shopping up the stairs. I stop on each landing to get my breath back a bit and then carry on. Maybe it was time to order online and get free home deliveries. I haven't done this yet but I know what's involved and may do it at some point
And lastly but most importantly I told my boyfriend/partner, Bryan, and all my friends. 'I have to stop driving - what will I do?' They all rallied round, as we all always do all rally round when any one of us has a problem. One would take me into Guildford shopping once a week. One would pick me up for the weekly pub quiz. Another would collect me for our dinner out every week.
I began to feel it would all work out.
It's been the best part of a year now since I gave up driving. I can't say I miss it. Sometimes it's a nuisance when you just want to hop in the car and go to the library or visit a friend. But mostly it just takes a bit of organisation. With good friends who help and with free buses, (expensive) taxis and Dial a Ride, life without the car is not nearly as awkward as I feared. I love not having to find a parking place and reverse wonkily into it. I love being able to have a glass of wine without wondering if I'm over the drink-drive limit. One friend, Rosemary, has made it a weekly outing for us both to go to Sainsburys and shop. We take our time and have a coffee and it's lovely to see her and chat as well as get the shopping done.
Today I'm going with one of my daughters to a lovely old pub in Shere, the White Horse, for lunch. I've booked a dial-a-ride vehicle and the driver will drop us off at midday and collect us after 2pm. I'll be able to share a bottle of wine with my daughter over lunch and neither of us will have to worry about drinking and driving. Since dial a ride fares are so cheap, getting to Shere and back will only cost a few pounds.
I suppose we all fear change as we get older. Sometimes you just have to accept it. I had a cataract operation which helped my sight for a while but I can't seem to find any treatment for the macular degeneration which put an end to my driving. Once I'd accepted I wouldn't drive again, I could get on with looking for alternatives that work.
Still I did laugh when I read that Tony Curtis's wife said at his funeral that he objected strongly to being made to stop driving. Right up to his death, she said, he was looking for ways to get his driving licence back!
But things change. If you stick around long enough, your sight starts to fail.
I started having a few odd visual effects around the time I turned 80 - little blue dots everywhere in the morning - and began to have trouble seeing detail in the distance. Like a car coming if I was cossing the road. I saw the optician a couple of times and my doctor referred me to en eye clinic and the people there hummed and ha-ed a bit and eventually told my doctor, after a few months, to tell me to stop driving.
When he told me he looked very apologetic. He knows I have a very active life, go out with friends a lot, visit my daughters and grandchildren, and he knew how important the car was to me.
I had to accept that he said I simply wasn't able to drive legally any more, and I don't think he was suggesting I drive illegally. When you've been driving for sixty odd years, being told you're becoming a danger to yourself and others and have to stop is upsetting. I won't say I cried a bit when I got home, but I won't say I didn't either.
After I got over the emotional side of it, the practical hassles of giving up driving started to hit me. How would I get around? I live outside Guildford and go into town to shop. I go out to see friends a lot. I needed to drive to see my kids and grandchildren. How would I get to the airport for holidays? How would I get to the pub for a pub lunch with friends?
I called one of my daughters and told her the terrible news. "The doctor says I have to give up my car. I have to stop driving."
I think she was shocked to. Both my daughters are used to mum being fairly independent. I listed all the things I wouldn't be able to do until she stopped me and said we should look at it differently.
Firstly, she told me to accept it. It was better to give up driving than to hit a car or pedestrian or be hit because I couldn't see as well as I used to. I had to agree with that. Then she reminded me I have plenty of friends who still drive and will help me get about. Next, she said I should think about the money I'd save on petrol, road tax and car insurance - and the money I'd get for the car - and I could put all that this year to taxis.
'You hate parking and you like a drink with lunch or dinner' she said. 'That means you're absolutely made for taxis. Once you get used to callings cabs you'll really like going out without bothering about the car.'
It was just a matter of getting organised, she said. Also, she said, 'You're over 80, mum - you should get some free transport - travel on the buses, and maybe there are council-run services too?'
I told her I'd work on all that. Which I did. The next day I rang her back with quite a lot of news. 'I'm not sure I've accepted giving up the car' I said 'but I've done some sums and research and here's what I've found.'
I'd calculated how much I could put towards taxis. If I sold the car, and since I'd save the road tax and insurance and payments for servicing, I'd be able to afford quite a lot of taxis. I'd rung the local council and they told me about a cheap service for oldies, 'Dial a Ride', which I could book to go substantial distances. If I wanted to go to Wisley Gardens with a friend then I could book Dial a Ride and travel there and back for a few pounds (which I have done since.) I don't know if Dial a Ride is a service local to Guildford funded by the council or if all councils provide the same sort of service as a national thing.
I'd also looked at ordering groceries and household stuff online from supermarkets for free deliveries. I live in a second floor flat so, for some time, it's been a bit of a nuisance carrying bags of shopping up the stairs. I stop on each landing to get my breath back a bit and then carry on. Maybe it was time to order online and get free home deliveries. I haven't done this yet but I know what's involved and may do it at some point
And lastly but most importantly I told my boyfriend/partner, Bryan, and all my friends. 'I have to stop driving - what will I do?' They all rallied round, as we all always do all rally round when any one of us has a problem. One would take me into Guildford shopping once a week. One would pick me up for the weekly pub quiz. Another would collect me for our dinner out every week.
I began to feel it would all work out.
It's been the best part of a year now since I gave up driving. I can't say I miss it. Sometimes it's a nuisance when you just want to hop in the car and go to the library or visit a friend. But mostly it just takes a bit of organisation. With good friends who help and with free buses, (expensive) taxis and Dial a Ride, life without the car is not nearly as awkward as I feared. I love not having to find a parking place and reverse wonkily into it. I love being able to have a glass of wine without wondering if I'm over the drink-drive limit. One friend, Rosemary, has made it a weekly outing for us both to go to Sainsburys and shop. We take our time and have a coffee and it's lovely to see her and chat as well as get the shopping done.
Today I'm going with one of my daughters to a lovely old pub in Shere, the White Horse, for lunch. I've booked a dial-a-ride vehicle and the driver will drop us off at midday and collect us after 2pm. I'll be able to share a bottle of wine with my daughter over lunch and neither of us will have to worry about drinking and driving. Since dial a ride fares are so cheap, getting to Shere and back will only cost a few pounds.
I suppose we all fear change as we get older. Sometimes you just have to accept it. I had a cataract operation which helped my sight for a while but I can't seem to find any treatment for the macular degeneration which put an end to my driving. Once I'd accepted I wouldn't drive again, I could get on with looking for alternatives that work.
Still I did laugh when I read that Tony Curtis's wife said at his funeral that he objected strongly to being made to stop driving. Right up to his death, she said, he was looking for ways to get his driving licence back!
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