My friends are permitted only two minutes to talk about their ailments

“I can’t begin to tell you how sore my heel is …” my voice trails off.

“But you have … about three times already today,” my husband cuts in. I’m trying to clock his tone to work out whether I need to be miffed or laugh. Because sometimes laughter is the only medicine.

“How’s your sore hip?” he continues.

My hip, with pain arching to my knee, isn’t too bad, currently relegated in the ailment hierarchy.

Today, the focus is on my suspected plantar fasciitis, self-diagnosed through a previous nasty episode and Dr Google. I fleetingly consider copying former AFL star Robert Harvey who famously treated his plantar fasciitis by jumping off a table until the tissue completely ruptured, theoretically easing the pain.

With my luck I’d end up in ED with a broken ankle or worse, so I’m alternating between rolling a golf ball and ice-filled water bottle under my foot. Finally, a beneficial use for my husband’s golf balls.

I’ve entered the age and stage where every second person in my circle over 50 has some ailment. Some fleeting, some manageable to an extent. Some lucky and some not so lucky escapes.

A neighbour says when she catches up with friends, they quickly knock off all the niggles, then get into the fun stuff, like travel, movies, books, learning languages, and pursuing passions put off during the intensive child-rearing years.

A friend tells me of the rule at their regular coffee catch-up: they start with an “organ symphony”, where each person is allocated two minutes, no more, to update on current illnesses. They say it works beautifully, otherwise the meetings of the smart and engaged seniors would descend into a glum affair.

During a recent afternoon with friends, aged from their mid-50s to early 60s, the rollcall of ailments dominated an otherwise entertaining annual catch-up.

One had slipped, breaking her C1 vertebrae and had been wearing a neck brace for months. She was lucky. Over an hour, as people filed in, she repeatedly recounted the accident. I half-jokingly suggested she might consider an FAQ card to respond to the shocked reactions as each person arrived and set eyes on her, prompting another recap of how a simple trip to the supermarket went awry. It seems the more mundane and simpler the activity the more serious the injury when it comes to trips and falls.

Another was treated for cancer but was on the mend. Some updated on their chronic health issues while others find themselves sandwiched – dealing with still dependent kids and sick parents.

I don’t think I got around to mentioning my sore heel, which paled into insignificance.

I thought, where did that 25 or so years go? When did we go from talking about breastfeeding, sleep deprivation, teething, introducing solids and securing childcare, to life-threatening and life-changing illnesses?

When you are younger and ask after someone’s health, the response is generally “good thanks”. Now you need to pause and think before asking: How long have you got? What’s the escape strategy when you get the long-playing version?

I’m a firm believer in a problem shared is a problem halved. But I’ve had to limit exposure to an octogenarian neighbour because they leave me feeling flat as a tack.

We might be living longer but many of us are living with chronic illness.

In early December, University of New South Wales research found there was an average 12-year gap between the lifespan and health span of Australians, meaning plenty of us can expect a decade or so in poor health.

It’s our job to help close the gap by keeping our brains and bodies active, making good lifestyle and dietary choices. It’s easier said than done for many of us, as I size up the chocolate ripple cake. Just a sliver, mind you.

I’ve just posted off my bowel screening kit, free to people aged 45 to 75, although you need to opt in if you’re still in your 40s.

Even though the kits are mailed out, the take-up rate of eligible people needs to be better with Cancer Institute NSW citing around 40 per cent of eligible people in NSW taking part in the screening.

I’ve done my mammogram and ticked off the optical, dentist and doctor check-ups.

It’s time-consuming getting around to all the bits.

One day I’m settling in at my regular cafe when a familiar face from my neighbourhood walks in, followed by a bunch of older seniors, straight from an 8am exercise class. Its name escapes me but in my head I know it as Move it or Lose it, or Living Forever and Ever. It’s a brilliant connector for older locals.

I take the risk of asking him how he is. Ever the gentleman, he comes closer to profusely apologise that he hasn’t got his hearing aids in.

That’s OK, I say, we’re even. I’m as blind a bat.

Claire Heaney is a Melbourne writer.

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