LONDON, U.K. -- Today we’re going to indulge in an exercise called, “Let’s Compare Lockdowns.”

This is Day 10 for us—counting back to the moment Boris Johnson reluctantly ordered people off the streets, out of their shops and offices and into their containment zones. Lock the door, ration the toilet paper and stay put.

Much of the rest of Europe was far ahead of him at that point, well into their enforced isolation. For Johnson, some might say it was like ordering people into the bomb shelters—after the bombs had started falling.

A note from Jayne Lein in Kingston, Ont. reminded me that many Canadians have been locked up far longer. Locked down, if you prefer.

“By the way,” she wrote, “I am on day 18 of staying home! It’s not so bad once you get used to it! Good luck on this crazy journey!”

Crazy, and frightening and “strange.” That’s the word Prince Charles used in a short video uploaded yesterday. He looked well after a week in quarantine, fully recovered apparently. I have only one bit of advice for the Prince: Don’t go near your mom yet.

Our 84-year-old friend Val in London is more relaxed about lockdown than we would like. She feels a need to make regular trips to Marks & Spencer and it does not go down well if you suggest she stay at home.

“But darling, I’m being very careful. I’m not touching anything.”

The worst part is that two of her friends have recently died (not necessarily from the virus) and it’s been impossible to go to their funerals or grieve with their families. That for many, will be the most searing memory from this terrible time, the sense of guilt that comes with losing loved ones and not being able to say a meaningful goodbye.

I wonder if people are even bothering to send flowers.

On that awful thought, a change of scenery seems in order. I’ve been getting regular updates from Paris though a brilliant young diplomat whose first name is Caitlin, and last name begins with “W.”

This is week three for her, under a lockdown that is among the most severe anywhere. The parks are closed, you need official permission to go to work, and the police are handing out fines for being outside when you shouldn’t be.

These are not just token amounts. The fine for a first-time offender is about $200. If you get caught four times, you can be sent to jail for six months.

Beyond that, a lot of people are calling into France’s advice hotlines. One man in the Rhone valley asked if it was okay to visit his mistress on the weekend. I suppose that’s a health question? I didn’t hear the answer.

Caitlin left her flat today for the first time since Saturday. For her, this is Day 16, or 17, more or less trapped at home. Embassy work is done remotely, the gym offers classes by video link. Going outside for a run requires a note, like a signed oath. Handwritten will do.

“I do solemnly swear that my outing is for the purposes of exercise. I will not go more than a kilometre from my home and I will return within one hour.”

Shopping? Same thing. You need a second note.

“Every time you step outside, the police always ask to see your papers.”

She—and others—swear the air in Paris smells fresher and the sky is clearer because there are fewer cars and aircraft polluting the atmosphere.

“That’s a nice side effect, if there is one?”

And every night at 8 p.m. she and her neighbours open their windows and offer a joyous thank you to French health-care workers. She applauds and waves at people on their balconies; they applaud and wave back. The French love the idea of solidarity.

Back in London, I want to leave you with the harrowing story of one young woman who caught the virus and survived. Reading her account on the BBC, I suddenly understood all the medical warnings, all the frightening scenarios of what’s happening out there, on a massive scale.

Her name is Karen Mannering. She’s 39 years old and six-months pregnant. It started with the classic COVID-19 symptoms: a persistent cough and fever.

She tested positive and was put in isolation for a week with pneumonia in both lungs.

“No one was allowed to come and see me,” she told the BBC. “It was a very lonely, dark time.”

We all take the act of breathing for granted. It happens. We don’t notice. Until you can’t.

“I was fighting for every single breath. I was fighting for mine and my baby’s life.”

She is now isolating at home in a room away from the rest of her family and still has a dry cough that could last for months.

“I was scared I was going to die,” she said, “and my family had prepared for the worst.”

Multiply that story hundreds of thousands of times in hospitals across the globe. It’s the definition of pandemic. Most cases are not that severe. Many others lead to death. Remember Karen Mannering’s words: I was fighting for every breath.

It doesn’t make a few weeks under lockdown seem all that difficult.