Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

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In Praise of Chocolate

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It’s getting colder out. On Sunday, snow swirled down from the skies when it was supposed to be sunny. Monday we started off in the teens and never got above low twenties. Snow is predicted for Tuesday morning.

I find myself craving chocolate. Not milk chocolate or white chocolate, but serious, bitter-sweet, dark chocolate. Fortunately, Al must have read my mind, because he bought a bag of dark chocolate bark when he went grocery shopping on Sunday afternoon. God bless him.

Dark chocolate is good for you. I know this because the Harvard School of Public Health says so. The flavanols in cocoa help to lower blood pressure, which makes consumption of dark chocolate, which is rich in flavanols, essential these days, given all of the crazy, distressing news. Dark chocolate can also reduce risk of diabetes and heart disease. I’m all for that.

When I was a marketing director at a small New England college, I always had a bowl of dark chocolate sitting out in the department’s open office space. My staff loved it. So did our colleagues, who would come to visit and snag a few pieces. Chocolate makes people happy. It brings us together. Also a good thing at a time of such divisiveness.

Too much of a good thing, of course, can become a problem. If I eat more than I should, the caffeine in dark chocolate can trip my heart arrhythmia. While that’s pretty annoying, it’s also a built-in warning signal that prevents me from gorging and gaining weight from the stuff.

So, I’ll try not to devour that bag that Al bought before the week is out. A piece a day⎯maybe two⎯should ward off the cold and keep my blood pressure in check as the temperatures drop and the news roars on. Just as a preventative, of course.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.

Image: Charisse Kenion

Clean Slate

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What is it about the change of one digit in the enumeration of years that makes January 1 feel different?

I’ve been rereading my bullet journals for 2018, notes from our travels, lists of books I’ve read (the only way I can remember is to write them down) and films I’ve seen, other flotsam and jetsam that contain clues about how I spent the past year. If I didn’t keep such copious records, it would all be a blur.

I go through this ritual twice a year⎯in the fall, for the Jewish High Holidays, with a spiritual focus, and in December, when I reflect on my work and creative goals and priorities for the coming year. It always feels good to take that step back and appreciate the good, learn from the mistakes, and decide what’s most important moving forward.

But why at the year’s turn? Or rather, why only at the year’s turn? New Year’s is truly just another day, another turn of the Earth on its orbit around the Sun.

It’s all too easy to get swamped by the details and challenges that each day brings. But I try to remind myself as I write this, a daily pause to reflect can make each sunrise feel like a clean slate. What am I grateful for? What do I want to accomplish today? What worked? What didn’t? What can I learn from the experience? Sounds like a plan, regardless of the calendar.

And so, Dear Reader, I share that resolution with you, as well as best wishes for a healthy, fulfilling 2019⎯every day of the New Year.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.

Image: Ian Schneider

Winter Song

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Many public schools around the country are struggling for lack of resources, and the schools in our city are no exception. But that hasn’t stopped a thriving music program in one of our high schools from training some talented musicians.

Back in May, I wrote about Al and my decision to donate my grandfather’s violin and his father’s viola to our local public school system. I haven’t been able to play the violin for decades as my hands have deteriorated. We hoped that the instruments would enable some deserving students to develop their skills. This past Thursday, those hopes were realized, as we got to see and hear our instruments making music once again

It was the annual Winter Concert at our local arts magnet high school, performed in the auditorium of the next-door middle school. I had never been there before, but we had been invited by the program’s director to attend in thanks for our donation. 

The building is drab, the auditorium cavernous, with wooden folding seats, a mediocre sound system and an aging grand piano that snapped a string during vigorous playing by the choral director. But the program was full of challenging selections, ranging from Bartók to Sondheim. And the students largely rose to the challenge. 

Most impressive was the string orchestra. Their director, who commutes from Boston, has clearly taught the students well.  It gave me such pleasure to watch and listen. All the violinists sat up straight, bowed their strings with excellent form and made lovely music. Our instruments sang again.

Equally as important to me, the string orchestra director treated his students and the concert with respect. He dressed smartly in a tuxedo with a red bow tie and cummerbund for the occasion. He had engaged a wonderful professional opera singer, clad in a scarlet gown, to perform Mozart with the group. The students presented her with a bouquet. There was shared pride in all that they had accomplished together.

We left the concert, which included band, choral and orchestra performances as well, feeling really good. Against significant odds, committed teachers are helping dedicated students rise to their full potential. I’m glad that our instruments have found a good new home.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.

Image: Peter Lewis

Travel Hacks

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This past weekend, I tried a new way to travel to Philadelphia to see my younger daughter. Our small regional airport now offers twice daily, non-stop American Eagle Shuttle flights⎯and so far, for a reasonable price. The airport is ten minutes from my home, as opposed to an hour-plus drive to Logan in Boston or other regional airports. And the flight itself takes less than an hour, as opposed to a slightly longer flight from Boston or
a six-hour drive.

So, worth the experiment. The plane is small, as in one row of single seats on the left, and double seats on the right. Cozy, to say the least. There is also no room in the overhead compartments for regular wheeled carry-on luggage. But they offer you a valet check
for your bag.

This is a great option for me, because it means that you leave your bag at the end of the flight bridge before boarding and retrieve it on the tarmac in Philly (process is reversed for the return flight). It’s great because (a) I don’t have to hassle with asking someone to put my bag overhead since I can’t do  it myself, (b) I don’t have to pay a baggage check fee and (c) retrieval is quick and easy (no waiting at the baggage claim conveyor belt and dragging my bag off before it moves away, also a challenge for my hands).

The other advantage of the small plane: being able to sit by myself in a single seat on the left. While I didn’t need to get up during the short flight, I could easily have done so. And I had the window, too. Best of both worlds.

Recently, when traveling alone, I’ve been stepping up to the gate counter when they ask for volunteers to place bags inside the plane because the flight is too full for everyone’s carry-ons to fit overhead. I get a free checked bag, and since the claim-check is given at the gate, there’s significantly less chance of my bag getting misplaced. I may have to wait at baggage claim to retrieve my carry-on, but it makes boarding and deplaning (who came up with that word?) much easier on my hands.

The only disadvantage of flying from my local airport is no TSA Pre-check. The airport is just too small. So I have to go through the rigamarole of shoes and liquids and all that. But since the airport is so small, there’s virtually no TSA line, and the agents are more patient and friendly. The same was actually true for my evening flight back from the shuttle terminal at Philadelphia International (though the TSA agents were gruffer). It takes me longer than most to put all my stuff in the bins and move it to the conveyor belt, so it’s nice to avoid all the pressure of hustling because others are waiting in line.

So, here’s to regional airports and shuttle flights! It’s not always an option, but if you can, there are some genuine advantages that ease some of the physical and mental stress of travel. Oh, and the flight was a breeze.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.

Excuses, Excuses

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My desk is a mess. So is my office. Stuff is being fruitful and multiplying when I’m not looking. Honest.

I blame this cluttered state of affairs on my hands. It’s hard to pick up piles of paper and sort and file, because I’ll inevitably bang my fingers. There’s not enough room to properly store my books. I need to have that stack here and this stack there for easy reference. Right.

Then again, I like having lots of interesting stuff around me when I work. There are my little turtle statues to play with. And a bronze T-Rex that I got when I was maybe five years old at the Museum of Natural History in New York. And a cube that I can rearrange to show various paintings by Edward Hopper, depending on my mood.

Of course, I must have at least two pens nearby and a red marker and yellow highlighter and pencils to keep track of my work progress in my handy Bullet Journal. (Yes, I’m addicted.)

And how can I NOT have that pile of reference books on the side of my desk? Or those mail solicitations that I need to remember to follow up? Or those really cool beads that I bought on sale last week to string into a necklace?

Then again, it would be nice to have a clear space in front of me and to get rid of those papers I really, really need to shred, already. And move that stack of old files to the cabinet in the basement. And make some decisions about what stuff is truly necessary.

Al has offered his hands to help anytime. Maybe when I can no longer move in here, I’ll take him up on it.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.