Aches & Pains, Page 3

  There’s a mother who congratulates her children on getting measles or chicken-pox as if they had won some kind of race: ‘Aren’t you great, you’ve got it at nine, I was twelve before I got it’. And they feel vaguely triumphant.

  For most children, a long-term illness is one that means a week off school. They don’t worry about the future the way we would. An accident is just a tree, a gate or a wall that was in the wrong place, not a sign that they are getting feeble and becoming geriatric.

  And children just assume that other people who know about such things will cure the problem. We have a lot to learn from them.

  THINGS NEVER TO ASK A CHILD

  Aren’t you a lovely big girl?

  Are you a good little boy?

  What’s your favourite subject at school?

  Don’t you remember me?

  Do you know you have chocolate all round your mouth?

  Will you give me a kiss goodbye?

  MAKING A FRIEND OF

  BLOOD PRESSURE

  We should all think very positively about this whole business of having blood pressure taken.

  It doesn’t hurt.

  There are no needles involved.

  You don’t see any blood.

  It’s only being done to find out if there is a danger of a heart attack or stroke.

  It’s just somebody putting a bandage on your arm and squeezing tightly.

  It measures the highest pressure (systolic) of the heart’s beat and also the lowest pressure (diastolic). Learn those two words just to show off.

  They like it to be 130 over 80. That’s 130 systolic and 80 diastolic. But that’s just perfectionist. It will probably be a bit different.

  Don’t worry.

  The solution is little pills.

  You might have to take them all your life. They’re no trouble.

  Almost half the people you know are taking them.

  Of course, if it’s too high they’ll tell you a few things like:

  Stop smoking.

  Cut down the alcohol.

  Mind your diet.

  Take more exercise.

  Cut out the salt.

  But you knew all that, didn’t you?

  HOW TO BE LESS NERVOUS

  When I was young I used to pretend to be brave because I was big, and big people aren’t ever allowed to be afraid. Somehow we were meant to be able to cope single-handed at the age of seven with the great hound with slavering jaws that I always thought was around the next corner.

  I was afraid to go to England in case I might be eaten by a snake because St Patrick hadn’t banished them from there, and I was distinctly worried in case I looked up into a tree, saw a vision and became a saint and quite possibly a martyr, since the two often went together.

  I was afraid of the dark and hated going upstairs in case a terrible monster was lurking in the box room. I was afraid to climb a tree in case I fell, I was afraid whenever I saw the doctor in case he might think I needed an injection or vaccination against something. I was terrified that the dentist would get distracted by something else and drill through my head. I watched buses and lorries carefully in case they suddenly left the road and ploughed into me.

  Whenever I saw an ambulance or fire engine I thought it was going to our house. I had read somewhere about a European royal family having some disease which meant if they started to bleed they never stopped; I thought I might have it too, so feared it was curtains if I cut myself at all.

  I jumped four feet at a loud noise; I thought the sound of leaves in the wind was a burglar; I feared a tidal wave coming in and submerging Dublin. I was always looking at the sky edgily in case a comet was coming towards us, and I thought I saw the Devil on four totally separate occasions.

  All in all I was a bag of nerves as a child and yet I grew up into a fairly fearless, reckless kind of adult. But because I remember what it was like to be utterly terrified of almost everything, I am actually most sympathetic to those who think people are drilling into their homes and will come up through the floor any minute, or that they will be beaten to a pulp by the first people they meet if they are mad enough to go abroad.

  How did I get the courage of a lion and stop whimpering? Well, first because of something my father once said as we looked at Smokey, the totally deranged cat, creeping around stalking an autumn leaf which was frightening him to death.

  My father said it was natural for all animals including humans to have this sense of fear. Otherwise we’d walk into the most desperate situations and wouldn’t survive, and that’s why our hearts started to race and our breathing began to get fast, and that this was called a state of fight or flight. I found this very cheering, since I had recently been having a bit of a problem with shadows on a bus shelter which I had been fairly sure were escaped gorillas.

  I checked it out with my mother. She had been a nurse and was always more graphic about things than other people. She said that when we were frightened every pore in the body opened and let out gallons of sweat. The thinking was that if we were all sweaty then it made us difficult to be grabbed by anything that was pursuing us, if anything was, which it usually wasn’t.

  She said that this was the reason our hair stood on end too: more difficult to pick up and walk off with something bristling, I suppose. We agreed that it probably wasn’t as useful a response nowadays, when humans weren’t all covered from head to toe with hair as they used to be. Still the principle was the same, and the old nervous system hadn’t quite understood or caught up on how things had changed.

  And somehow that helped me a lot. I realised there weren’t any gorillas behind the bus shelter. The reason I was so afraid wasn’t that I was a coward at all, it was only years of heart-racing and pore-sweating and hair going bolt upright.

  So I got cured. It also helped that I realised I couldn’t have a good time in life if I was going to be afraid of everything, and I was mad keen to have a good time.

  And so the gorillas slunk home, the tidal waves receded, the hostile comets stayed where they were in space, and even the aeroplanes seemed safe when you read the statistics. Not everyone is able to have such enlightenment at the age of fourteen, but it could work at any age.

  And the facts are all correct. I checked it out recently in a biology book for you. Not as clearly explained as here, of course; a lot of stuff about the autonomic nervous system. But the bottom line is that though it’s normal to feel afraid, almost all of the time there are no gorillas or snakes or personal appearances of Lucifer. There is only the poor old over-reacting system that hasn’t quite worked it out yet.

  THE NERVES OF YOU

  Your body has forty-five miles of nerves.

  YOU AND YOUR DOCTOR

  Remember the doctors are all on your side.

  If you want to get better, have nothing to hide.

  The doctors have heard every story before –

  They will not keel over, and show you the door.

  When asked do you drink, then you must not be shy –

  Admit that you’d drink any harbour quite dry.

  If they ask about cigarettes, don’t make a joke.

  Don’t say a few puffs, if it’s fifty you smoke.

  Doctors are often obsessed about diet.

  If you eat like a glutton, then don’t keep it quiet,

  But tell the bad news about chocolate and fries –

  It’s not going to come as a total surprise.

  If you think you’ll forget the things that they tell,

  Try writing them down in a notebook as well.

  Doctors can’t be clairvoyants, you have to explain

  Just where you are feeling the ache or the pain.

  Say what tablets you’re on, and if you are able,

  Bring in the right bottle, its name on the label.

  Though their writing is hopeless, they’re really quite kind –

  They’re doing their best the solutions to find.

  FOR A BRUISED EYE

  Tak
e conserve of red roses and rotten apple in equal quantities, wrap them in a fold of old linen and apply it to the eye; it will relieve the bruise and remove the blackness.

  (The Complete Servant,

  Samuel and Sarah Adams, 1825)

  HOW TO BE A GOOD FRIEND

  TO SOMEONE WHO IS

  MENTALLY ILL

  If your sister, father, friend or lover doesn’t have a physical illness but a mental one, bunches of grapes, expensive soaps and heavy helpings of good-natured common sense might not be at all appropriate.

  It goes without saying that as a good friend you will

  …make sure you are available for them and say so.

  …help them to find and urge them to stick with professional help.

  …never tell them to pull themselves together or to cheer up.

  … stay alert for any signs of possible self-destruction.

  …keep cheerful, show no signs of panic and give no analysis whatsoever.

  Mental illness is less terrifying these days, in one respect anyway: at least today it is generally accepted as being just that – an illness which can more and more often be successfully treated.

  Those who suffer from the distressing symptoms of a mental disorder don’t have to try to hide as they did when sufferers were considered insane because mental illness bore a stigma. Nowadays at least, we have all known so many people who have recovered due to counselling, therapy and medication that such old-fashioned views are no longer current.

  Most people I know who have had a mental illness talk about it, and so do their families and friends, which surely must be a healthier way to go on. But even so we don’t always get it right for them. And there are things that I have learned from friends who have been through serious depressions, things I would certainly, despite all good intentions, not have known.

  It’s not a great idea, for example, to keep suggesting things that would cheer you up, automatically thinking they will cheer them up. They might not feel ready or willing to take on a film and supper in a noisy restaurant, but will go out of sheer guilt because you are being so kind. In fact, you could be adding to their misery. Depressed people are not being deliberately obstinate when they refuse to come out; but it would take the pressure off them if they were allowed instead to suggest the activity, and only when they feel up to it.

  Sometimes too, meaning well, you can tell a friend in distress you know exactly how it feels. This is not a real help to someone in a serious or clinical condition. You don’t know how it feels. In the end they’re only words. If you knew how it felt, you’d be feeling the same way. It’s better to ask them to talk to you about what they are feeling, and to stay calm even though what’s said might be sad, bleak and alarming. It’s more help than what we might mean as words of comfort, but which come across as meaningless platitudes.

  Don’t tell anyone who is depressed about someone else’s depression and how it was conquered. This is at best empty and irrelevant, and at worst it is seen as a betrayal. If you are blabbing and speaking lightly about another person’s depression, will you do the same in this case?

  It’s not always good to cast aside and reject apologies either. Someone who is suffering mental distress might keep saying to friends and relations, ‘I’m so sorry for being like this, and leaning on you so much’. Sometimes they just want to apologise, to show that even from the black pit of despair they do know they are being tiresome, repetitive and by your standards, unreasonable.

  In this situation, a lot of people have found that it’s better to simply accept the apologies. You might just say you know they’re sorry and know they’re not in any way at fault. At least that way you are acknowledging the fact that despite their own pain they realise they are causing you anxiety or upset or difficulties of one kind or another. This is better than dismissing any expression of regret or insisting their behaviour is absolutely normal or no trouble at all, which they know is not the case.

  Humour is not always out of place in such conversations. Not stand-up comedy or set pieces, but people who suffer from depression have told me they love bleak and even black jokes. This obviously won’t be right for everyone, but for a few, it’s a relief.

  AN ELEGANT MEDICINE

  CUPBOARD

  For some reason people always peep into your medicine cupboard. Fool them totally. Have lovely fresh-looking things in it with no sign of suppositories, false teeth fixative, violent laxatives or unmerciful cures for diarrhoea. Instead have:

  – harmless-looking vitamins.

  – hangover cures to show what a racy life you lead.

  – some essential oils for aromatherapy.

  – a small whip that will have them speculating about you for years.

  Put the things you really need in a different box entirely. Cover it with a nice towel and leave it as a little stand for the lavatory brush. Nobody will dream of investigating it.

  ELASTIC STOCKINGS

  These are terrible things which apparently are hugely beneficial. Nobody ever tells you about them in advance so I thought I would warn you.

  They are to stop clots which might form if your legs were to be allowed to roam free, and somehow they are meant to hold you together after operations, or ease your varicose veins, which is all very admirable and much to be desired. They don’t hurt at all when they’re on. In fact, they actually feel very comfortable when they’re in place.

  That’s all the good news.

  The bad news is that it’s like having a skin graft putting them on and taking them off. You see someone approaching, holding this unyielding white cloth container which looks as if it wouldn’t fit over your thumb let alone over your whole leg, and you grit your teeth.

  But first the stocking that is already on has to come off. You’d be afraid to look in case most of your flesh had gone with it, but amazingly your poor leg looks intact. Sad and white, but still all there.

  You remember the times when you didn’t have this ritual every day and you wonder why you didn’t feel ludicrously carefree and happy from dawn to dusk.

  It’s no use suggesting, as I did, that maybe you don’t need to wash your legs all that much, and that possibly you could keep the elastic stockings on for a week or so. They don’t like that as a notion.

  It sounds filthy and disgusting. No use offering the theory that your poor old legs couldn’t really get very dirty just lying in bed going nowhere. They hate that as a theory. Legs just have to be washed every day, that’s it. And they can’t be washed through stockings, so you have to have the things removed and replaced daily.

  I used to hate this more than anything else in hospital, more than giving blood, getting blood, going through that scanning machine, which was very expensive apparently, and where I always thought I would get stuck because I was too chubby and they would have to sacrifice me or the machine.

  But bad and all as it was having the elastic stockings put on and taken off by kind, trained hospital staff, it was totally horrific trying to do it at home.

  In theory – in someone’s mad theory – you are meant to be able to do it yourself. It’s all a matter of getting the heel in the right place and then pulling the stocking up with a pick-up stick.

  That doesn’t work. The heel is never in the right place and the pick-up stick keeps losing the stocking or tearing it. You really need the services of a good kind spouse, partner, relative, friend, or passer-by. Someone firm enough to refuse to let you grow fungus on your legs by allowing you some days’ respite between the changes. Someone technical enough to work out the amazing geometry of getting the heel on first. Someone kind enough to put up with all the ungrateful yelps and groans. Someone far-sighted and optimistic enough to realise that this is unlikely to be forever, who realises that one blissful day the authorities will allow you to let your legs run free again.

  TEN GIFTS MOST PATIENTS

  WOULD LOVE

  1) A dozen stamped postcards to write short thank-you letters or accounts of their ai
lments to the outside world.

  2) A laptop tray, a thing with a flat top and a bean bag bottom, which doesn’t slide off the bed.

  3) An artificial silk flower that won’t eat the oxygen, need any water, annoy the nurses, or die and upset everyone.

  4) A bar of ludicrously expensive designer soap that no one would ever buy in real life.

  5) The loan of a Walkman or tape recorder and three talking books.

  6) A bottle of really good salad dressing or vinaigrette. Hospital food can be very bland; this cheers up almost everything but the semolina.

  7) Gossipy and silly magazines. Energetic sporting, mountaineering and boxing publications can make the weak feel weaker still.

  8) For women: a pinkish scarf to drape around the shoulders is inclined to make the greyest face look a bit more lively.

  9) For men: a small bottle of expensive cologne to slap around his chops and make him feel more desirable.

  10) Some vague proof, in the form of a card with many signatures on it, that friends, family, neighbours or colleagues have not forgotten the patient.

  REMEDIES AGAINST FLEAS