And finally of course the huge anxiety: will I die from this? My will is not finished. I want to see my daughter. I am scared.

Yes, these are strange times for us, a totally segregated population of 200 people, all old and one third at least are handicapped. The house is locked. We cannot leave nor can we receive anyone from the outside.

The dining-rooms are closed: we would be in too close proximity and all meals are served in your apartment. You can imagine the huge amount of work for the already overworked helpers.

Many of the demented – and there are at least fifty of those – are totally confused by what is happening.

Harold, my husband, has some understanding of the news of the virus, but no understanding of why he gets his food brought to him in his studio apartment in which there is no table to eat, no place to put the dishes, difficult not to spill his orange juice or, worse, the cereal which he eats with his fingers because he does not like milk.

The nurse-attendant did not put his shoes on for him nor comb his hair because she was in a great hurry to get everyone breakfast. That in itself that is a time-consuming task: to take three of four dishes from the kitchen, bring them to the individual rooms and at the same time try to answer the anxious questions everyone poses.

Management is kind and patient but really has nothing much to say and the details of how to run this place under these stringent conditions are simply overwhelming.

How will I get to my doctor’s appointment? My children are coming to see me but they are not admitted. Today was Sunday and I need to go to church? Will the movie be cancelled? I need to buy more toothpaste, toilet paper. I have to return a coat I bought which does not fit.

And finally of course the huge anxiety: will I die from this? My will is not finished. I want to see my daughter. I am scared.

Harold and I talked about all this today and agreed that we are both very old and if we catch the virus, that is as it should be.  It is time for us. The old first, please.

Renée Levine is 94 and on lock down at the Crossings, the senior community she lives in. She has offered to write letters about the reality of this experience. If you have a message you would like to send her, please either email me at robin@ourstoriestoday.com or leave a comment below and I’ll be sure she receives it.