The unbearable question: How long have I got to live?

HOW long am I going to live? I’m not normally introspective, but the question was sparked a few weeks ago when I visited my friend Melanie’s mum, who is in the local care home.

She’s in her 90s, and spent much of the time dozing as we chatted.

At one point, she did wake up – after nearly falling off her chair – and immediately asked: ‘How are you, Bonnie?’

Before I’d had a chance to answer, she was asleep again.

It left me thinking, what will I be like when I’m that age? And will I ever get there?

The NHS advice to those who have just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s is: Once the initial shock has passed, it’s time to move on and create an action plan for the future.

It talks about making a will and putting papers in order.

I think my husband Chris has seen a lawyer but, to be honest, I’m leaving all that to him now.

One thing I did do, however, was Google my life expectancy.

Eight years from diagnosis, on average, is what most websites say. It seems very short. I don’t know if the fact that I was a fit and healthy 66 when I was diagnosed, last year, means the outlook is better or worse.

AFTER that, I tried to talk to Chris about the fact I won’t be around for ever. He just said: ‘Oh don’t be silly.’ I suppose it’s not an easy conversation. And what is there to say, really?

People always ask their doctor, when they’re given bad news: ‘How long have I got?’

I didn’t, personally. But it’s not like he’d give me a number. Doctors don’t do that.

It’s like betting on horses, you can look at averages, and odds. But at the end of the day, you just don’t know who will and who won’t make old bones.

And besides, I’m actually not afraid of dying.

We all have to go somehow, whether it’s dementia or cancer or something else. Do I really want to get to my 90s? I’m not so sure.

I’m more haunted by the idea of ending up an old biddy, like Melanie’s mum and those others in the care home, not really aware of what’s going on. But then again, once you’re there, you probably don’t worry too much. And if and when the time comes, I don’t mind the idea of going into a home.

You see, I used to be quite an anxious person – just ask my friends!

I worried a lot – about work, about what my then-teenage daughters were up to, about getting older.

Maybe it’s the medication I’m on now, but I just don’t worry any more.

I’ve also decided that there is no point in dwelling on negative thoughts. What I do want, more than anything, is to keep my life – our lives – as normal as possible for as long as possible.

So I take the dog for a walk every day, meet my friends on the Common, and have a laugh.

I love Zumba. In fact, I’ve just come home from an evening class where I enjoy every minute of gyrating in a church hall with a group of like-minded women – and sometimes the occasional man.

Of course, I’ve woken up in the morning and thought: what is the point of getting out of bed? But then the dog starts barking, and that’s it. I get up and go. He needs me.

Obviously there are times when I struggle with endless forgetfulness, arguments, and plenty of frustration all round, the kind of things that make you want to scream and shout: ‘Why?’

But I’m looking forward to Christmas. I’m going to Margate, where my daughter Hannah is hosting everyone, which is great, as it means I don’t have to get involved in any cooking.

And after that? Well, I just plan to keep going.