I always dread the winter. I’m not exactly a snow hater, and I recognize its beauty as long as I’m not driving or commuting through it. There’s something cozy about a fireplace and a book. But I struggle with two aspects of winter–lack of light and the absence of colour. Each year I stage mini interventions for myself from the frost-death of the last flower in the garden until the brave appearance of the first buds of spring. I struggle to remain upbeat and positive. I know I’m not alone in this.
A few weeks ago I realized this winter my battle for mental health over the next months contained a new and frightening aspect. Along with the weather outside being frightful and the isolation of the pandemic being lonely, my body has betrayed me. 
I’ve had arthritis for about 10 years, and although it hurts, I try to not give it a bigger place in my life than necessary. It’s there. I cope with it. Life goes on. This summer I still walked the 2.5 kilometres around a nearby lake almost every day, but a change occurred fairly quickly in September/October. I couldn’t do it. Even a walk to the mailbox at the top of the street leaves me gasping with pain. The X-ray says severe osteoarthritis in my left hip and the doctor says probably surgery, and I say bring it on. But that’s where the whole thing falls apart as an apparent shortage of orthopaedic surgeons in Canada may mean a wait of a year or more.
Seriously depressing.
I began to think about and relate to the many elders I know who struggle with mental health because of shrinking worlds.
The number of adults over 60 who suffer from some kind of mental disorder is 15%, according to the World Health Organization. (1) Add to that the many undiagnosed, or those who suffer from seasonal or mild depression and the numbers are higher.
As difficult as my present situation remains, it’s given me a new appreciation for the losses elders suffer and the struggle to keep from sliding into a depression that results.
Here are just a few:
Physical losses This can result in a whole host of secondary consequences.
- Inability to care for themselves. (I was horrified when I had to buy a device to help me get my socks on!)
- Loss of independence.
- Changes in mobility or function (such as shortness of breath due to heart disease) lead to isolation. The world shrinks.
- Dignity. The need for assistance in personal care is embarrassing and emotionally painful.
- Often physical losses lead to downsizing or moving into care. The loss of familiar possessions can be devastating for some.
Emotional losses
- The death of friends. One elder told me that “if it weren’t for doctor’s appointments and funerals, I’d have no social life at all.”
- The reality of the pandemic is that even limited social gatherings often aren’t possible, especially for this fragile population. That goes for family gatherings, too. It’s lonely in the extreme.
Spiritual Losses
- It may be the case that faith, which has been woven into the fabric of their being, is shaken with these new challenges.
It’s become clear to me that I need a plan to get through this winter without falling into depression.
As care partners, we need to recognize the potential, be aware of the signs and look for practical ways to improve the mental health of our elders.
Stay tuned.
(1) https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/mental-health-of-older-adults
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