Rolling the Dice

The latest numbers indicate that about 80 percent (4 in 5) of Covid-19 deaths are of people over the age of 65. But that group only accounts for roughly 20 percent (1 in 5) of the total amount of cases.

This is a stark reminder that the pandemic is killing off our elders in disproportionate numbers. To many, this is logical. As people age, they get weaker, develop chronic health problems, and become more susceptible to infections.

Many older people also become calmer, less given to emotional outbreaks, and more or less philosophical about the future. So they are less likely to panic in the face of the pandemic.

These are gross generalizations from my year-long journey through America's health-care system. Most of my fellow patients were elderly. Once they'd improved or stabilized enough to go to a skilled nursing facility, they started physical therapy treatments to regain lost functions.

Next, in the assisted living facilities, you encounter a wide mix of residents. Some live independent lives, dressing themselves, showering, taking their medications, exercising daily, and ordering any food they want for delivery. They can make it to the dining room for meals and to activity rooms for games, lectures and other social activities.

Others are in various states of decline; they need help with one or more of these physical tasks. The worst case, physically, is when a person can no longer do anything on their own.

Mental health is another track. Everyone gets a bit absent-minded with age, except the occasional ones who claim to recall every detail from their youth. There is the possibility that this is true; there is the possibility that this is a delusion. No one is around any longer to contest their claim.

The memory care unit is perhaps the saddest place in any of these facilities. That's where they take the people who can't remember much of anything or anybody any longer.

Nothing I'm saying here should surprise anybody, but it is what I witnessed personally. It can be a surreal period of life to be lost in the elderly care world. The nurses and CNAs and other care-givers are almost universally kind people, generous with their empathy and expressions of support. Little improvements in your performance are greeted by cheers from them -- you know they are on your side.

The reason I am revisiting all of this in my mind today is that I know that isolation makes every stage of this journey worse for the vast majority of elderly people, and isolation kills as surely as the virus. If you have loved ones in your life, remember that and reach out to them as frequently as you can. Remind them that you love them.

The Times today has the most extensive report yet I've seen on addiction during the shelter-in-place phase of the pandemic. The news is grim: It appears people are drinking more heavily than usual and in some cases earlier in the day.

This may be occurring more among younger, working people than the elderly, who often are more accustomed to staying inside and conducting sedentary lifestyles. Some of my 70- and 80ish peers tell me the worst addiction they fear is too much TV watching.

Coming from a hard-drinking work culture, where journalists typically hit the bar night after night, I don't consider TV watching to be among the dangerous categories of addiction.

Then again, why would I? Managing TV shows, writing movie scripts, sitting in control rooms or on film sets was one of my favorite activities during my career. I loved it all -- the drama, the lighting, the sound tracks, the makeup, the camera angles, the actors, the guests, the Green Room talks, the comraderie of the crews.

If that is an addiction, bring it on to me once again.

But the signs that people in their 20s, 30s, 40s or 50s may be drinking more at home worries me. Being out in public, going to an office or other type of work facility -- these normally require sobriety. If you are one of the people tipping a drink more than before, try pouring it out today and drink ice water instead. just as a favor to one who would selfishly like you to stick around in a good state of mind.

Why selfish?

I need readers who react to my words, sentences, paragraphs, and to the stories that hopefully emerge from them.  We need each other.

Often here on Facebook I have mentioned my quest to publish a memoir. You could classify that as a fanciful aspiration. The state of the publishing industry is such that a life such as mine is not deemed worthy of a large enough advance to even approach the cost of producing it.

Meanwhile, Barack and Michelle Obama reportedly revived a $65 million advance for their memoirs.

I've got nothing against the Obamas; in fact I admire them both and wish them well. But strictly from a reader's perspective, what can be possibly be left about their lives that we don't already know? Their only real option is to divulge secrets about other powerful people. To violate confidences and encourage voyeurism.

As people, they seem almost too decent to do that. But $65 million can alter a person's sense of ethics.

Wait and see.

Here, playing the odds, rolling the dice, I will continue my daily ritual of writing about my life. I know perfectly well there will be no multi-million-dollar advance or marketing hoopla accompanying me on this quest.

But it is the journey I felt compelled to take and if you need a motive, let's just say it is part of my recovery.

I nearly died but didn't. Instead I decided to tell you a story.

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