A Golden Age

by Tracey Weston
^{(creative writers at www.morewriting.co.uk)}
It is 10am and I am in Dr.Heywood's surgery. I fiddle with the gold plated clasp on my handbag as I try to comprehend what he has just said.

“Depression? Are you sure?”

Well, there was a surprise. I‘d been wracked with aches and pains as of late. No energy; dizzy; tired; poor appetite. I’d been imagining all sorts of gruesome illnesses.

“Yes. We’ve run various health tests … blood pressure; blood counts; thyroid and hormone checks; vitamin levels. You appear to be in good health. Sometimes prescriptive drugs can cause depression as a side effect but you only take paracetamol. I can find no physical cause for your symptoms.“

“I appear to have wasted your time, doctor."

“Not at all, Mrs Ellis. Depression needs treatment just like any other illness. It can have serious consequences on your physical health and quality of life. You did the right thing in coming to see me.”

I feel myself relax a little but I still feel uncertain.

“ Well, I never thought … I mean … I’m not so young …” My palms are clammy and I feel foolish.

“Go on …” He smiles reassuringly.

“ I thought it was young people who suffered depression. I feel a little embarassed.”

“A common misconception. Depression is more common amongst the elderly than the young. But it often remains undiagnosed and untreated.”

“ Are you sure it isn’t just my age?”

He shakes his head. “ I would expect there to be physical changes but there's no such thing as 'just my age'. I see from your notes that your husband died last year ... that must have knocked you for six?"

“Yes ... but I coped.”

" Hmmm. I see you've also had some difficulties with your walking. Have you found it easy to manage on your own? It can't be easy to adapt to all these changes."

“Easier than adapting to the loss of one’s hair; teeth; even one’s marbles.”

“Aha … you’ve more hair than me and you seem sharp enough.” He briefly touches his head. He is as bald as a coot.

I put my hand to my mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry … I didn’t mean…”

He waves away my apologies. “It’s natural to feel grief and sadness as we adapt to change. Sometimes we fail to get over this. It can interfere with our daily activities and quality of life. Our health can be affected. We may suffer ‘depression’"

”Well, I haven't felt motivated to do anything much. I don't know why. I used to enjoy keeping busy but lately I just seem to sit in the chair and time passes me by. I just can't be bothered anymore."

I twist the gold ring on my wedding finger. I thought I'd coped but maybe I had become depressed after George died. But was it George, or was I grieving over the person I used to be? When George passed away it was as if part of my life and the person I was had died with him. The loneliness had gnawed away, slowly, like coldness chilling a bone. A dull, nagging ache that never lets up. George had always perceived me as beautiful, yet society sees me as an ‘old woman.’ No-one recognises the woman in the photographs as being me. Part of my life and identity had slipped away with George. And yet, I still am that woman.

“To begin with I'm going to suggest you take anti-depressants known as SSRIs. We can see how you get on with those but I need to monitor you and review you regularly. There are also things that you can do to help yourself.”

“Such as?”

“You need to maintain a healthy diet. Don’t skip meals. If there are any issues with cooking or shopping I need to know. We could arrange ‘meals on wheels’. You need to ensure that you're getting out and about and seeing people; exercise and fresh air. If there are any issues with mobility we can address those. No need to stay indoors just because you have a bad leg. No need to stay indoors because of your age."

“Doesn’t society expect old people to stay at home? Please don’t ask me to take up knitting or join the neighbourhood watch scheme.” I give a brief shudder.

“It is changing. Attitudes are changing. But you have to make people see that too. Don’t slip into the role of ‘old lady’ if you don’t want to. Just be yourself.”

“I don’t feel old; mentally I still feel young.”

“Good. Also think of the benefits of your age. You no longer have to work. You can relax and take up hobbies. Think of the things you’d like to do but never had the time. Now is your time.”

I smile. “I’ve always fancied myself as an artist. I’d love to paint. But I never had the time … bringing up the children you see. And my husband wouldn’t have approved.”

“There you go. That’s one to begin with. There are plenty of colleges and centres that run art classes for beginners. You’ll make new friends too.”

“Yes.”

“Do you see much of your children?”

I sigh. “I wish I did. They're good kids but it tends to be special occasions such as birthdays and Christmas. Everyone has such busy lives today.”

“Well first things first. Let's see how you get on with these tablets. There are support groups out there and I can arrange for you to see a bereavement counsellor. I think that may be a good idea if you are willing to try it? If things don’t improve there are many different therapies you can try.”

What kind of therapies?

“Cognitive behaviour therapy or psychotherapy. The first would help you to develop better coping skills and change negative thought patterns. Develop a new perspective. The latter would help you to work through your feelings and any stressful changes in your life.”

“I would prefer to see how the tablets work first.”

“That’s fine. Don’t expect miracles though. You won’t feel better overnight. This will take time and effort.”

“Yes, I know.”

I thank Dr. Heywood and say 'goodbye'. I still feel faintly surprised at his diagnosis and the idea will take some getting used to. Not so easy as simply taking pills. Still, I think George would have been proud of me today. It takes a kind of courage to realise that something is wrong.