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Resolution Report Card

Evelyn Herwitz · December 29, 2015 · 2 Comments

As we fast approach 2016, the media are full of retrospectives, best-of lists, worst-of lists, remembrances and clearance sales. The usual accounting.

And, of course, it’s that time of year to consider New Year’s resolutions. But instead of coming up with a new list, I thought I’d review last year’s and see how many resolutions I actually accomplished—and how to move closer to my goals this year.

My top priority for 2015 was to enhance my weekly exercise routine. I took the plunge and joined a community fitness center. But it didn’t work out. The classes mostly consisted of repetitive movements that are hard on my joints, and the studios were as chilly as refrigerators. I could not motivate myself more than maybe three times to go to the gym and use the stationary bike. The one class I really liked cost extra. Not worth the membership. My one big accomplishment: walking 15 minutes to a half-hour around my neighborhood at least three times a week.

My New Year’s remedy: At the recommendation of my cardiologist, I checked out local colleges for indoor tracks, to continue walking warmly and safely this winter. Al is an alumnus of one of them, which gives me spouse privileges at a very reasonable rate for the campus recreation facility. I also found a new Pilates studio nearby with a variety of exercise options that enables me to use a punchcard for drop-in classes, rather than pay for classes I may miss. I have to be more consistent with exercising, to stay strong and flexible, and this seems to be a more realistic formula for success.

Decluttering our home was also high on the list. Well, we got started clearing out books and old toys. Then we stalled. I managed to cull through decades of old files from the filing cabinet in the basement—dating back to the 1980s! But I still have to consolidate what’s left in a manageable way and then transfer current files (sans unnecessary paper) to the filing cabinet from my office floor. Over the winter, I want to finally tackle the family room in the basement. On the plus side, if we hadn’t been decluttering this fall, we never would have discovered a huge plumbing leak, and damage would have been much worse.

Last New Year’s I promised myself I would limit multi-tasking and keep my to-do list to what I could actually accomplish. Let’s just say this is a work in progress. Same for spending undistracted quality time with my family, minus iPhones and other beeping gadgets. Getting better about this, but there’s plenty of room for improvement.

Did I favor locally grown, organic produce when grocery shopping? Not as much as I had intended. Need to work on that one.

Another goal for 2015—saying thank-you to someone for something specific, each day—I try, but could be more mindful about this. I did fulfill some major community volunteer commitments, another resolution, without draining my energy, which I plan to continue.

Then there was my big creative goal: write the first draft of my novel. I haven’t finished, yet, but I am making steady progress. I’m just about at the halfway point, and I participate in a weekly workshop class in Boston that is helping me to sharpen my writing and stay on task. I’ve learned a great deal about how much is involved in an artistic project this big, and I know, now, that it’s a multi-year undertaking. That’s okay. We took an amazing trip to Europe this summer to do research for my novel that taught me I really can travel, despite the complications of my scleroderma. As I wrote last year, investing in my own art is truly central to my being—and well-being.

I need to remind myself of one more goal from last year—go/do/see someplace/something new each month. So important to keep growing.

As for adding anything new for 2016, the best goal I can think of is this: Remember to just breathe.

Best wishes to all of you, Dear Readers, for a healthy, fulfilling and prosperous 2016. Thank you for your continuing encouragement and thoughtful comments as I enter my fifth year of writing this blog. Let 2016 be a year of more progress toward a cure for scleroderma, and toward a just and lasting peace in this troubled world of ours.

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.

Image Credit: Yee Wong

Darkness Into Light

Evelyn Herwitz · December 22, 2015 · Leave a Comment

Just before midnight last night, the Earth reached the point in its annual orbit when the North Pole tilted the farthest distance away from our Sun—23.5 degrees, to be exact. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, that means today, December 22, brings the shortest day’s worth of daylight of the year. Starting tomorrow, daylight grows incrementally longer.

I’m not alone in my feeling of relief every time we pass the Winter Solstice. People have celebrated the arrival of the “new sun” for millennia. Usually Hanukkah lands close enough to this day that, by the time we light the eighth candle, I feel like the long descent into darkness is over; this year, I had to wait another eight days, and it seemed like forever.

Of course, here in New England, just because the days are now officially getting longer doesn’t mean they will get warmer. Not by a long shot. Even though December has been exceptionally mild—heading toward the ‘60s on Christmas Day—come January, we will undoubtedly have colder weather. Last year’s mild December tricked everyone when we were socked with a brutally cold winter and more snow in Worcester than any other city in the country.

I write this, of course, because winter is just really hard on my Raynaud’s. I saw my rheumatologist last week, and we were joking that the only people who are happy about the warm weather here are people like me. Everyone else is wishing for some seasonal temperatures and at least enough snow to transform the landscape without making roads hazardous. Even the ski resorts can’t make snow because it’s just been too warm.

So far, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration is predicting a milder winter in these parts. I have yet to have my snow tires put on my Prius. Usually I do this just after Thanksgiving. I know I should take care of this soon, before year’s end. But there’s been no incentive.

I’m not complaining. I am reveling in this weather for as long as it lasts. And I’m enjoying the psychological boost of knowing that there will be more daylight tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Meanwhile, I’m looking for ways to brighten the darkness. Over the weekend, Al and I went to Tower Hill Botanic Garden to enjoy tropical plants in the Orangerie and Limonaia, the festive seasonal decorations, a performance of Renaissance and Baroque music celebrating the Winter Solstice and, best of all, the gardens illuminated at night by thousands of jewel-toned lights. I leave you with this view, to brighten your own dark nights as we await the return of longer days.

Anniversary Waltz

Evelyn Herwitz · December 15, 2015 · 2 Comments

Last week, Al and I celebrated our 31st wedding anniversary. We agreed that we wouldn’t buy gifts. More important just to spend quality time together, a welcome break from the usual hectic midweek schedule.

We shared a quiet, delicious meal and a bottle of wine at our favorite Afghan restaurant. Then, on Saturday night, we enjoyed an extraordinary performance by Cirque de Soleil. And we began to plan our next trip for this coming summer—another special adventure to look forward to.

All of this was good and lovely and memorable.

But it was a very different kind of sharing on Sunday night that once again impressed upon me the blessings of our three-decades-plus marriage.

I was in the process of cooking dinner, when I reached out to open my small Cuisinart to chop up some parsley—and smashed the tip of my still-healing, infected digital ulcer on the gadget’s plastic top. It really, really hurt. Like slamming your finger in a car door.

I yelled and cursed as I walked in circles around the kitchen, trying to breathe my way through the sharp wave of pain. Usually this passes within a minute or so, but this time I really did a number on myself. The pain would not quit.

Al had been reading in the living room. In the midst of my outburst, he walked into the kitchen, opened his arms and gave me a big, soothing hug. It didn’t take the pain away, but it did help me to relax a little, the first step in gaining control of acute pain.

During the course of our meal, he proceeded to distract me, since I was still pretty uncomfortable. By the time we finished, with the help of some Tylenol, I was doing a bit better.

As Al washed the dishes, I reached into the cabinet near the sink for a mini Three Musketeers, left over from Halloween.

“You deserve that!” he said. I laughed, and agreed.

Just another episode of managing my scleroderma. We’ve been through this many times. He knows what to do, without my asking. And he never, ever complains about all the mishegas that this disease has brought to our marriage over these many years.

That is something worth celebrating. Love you, Al.

Image Credit: Naama y.m.

Outside In

Evelyn Herwitz · December 8, 2015 · Leave a Comment

It’s that time of year when my digital ulcers flare up as the weather gets colder and drier. So, sure enough, a couple of weeks ago, the tip of my middle left finger got infected. Right on schedule. At least it’s been more than four months since I had to go on antibiotics. And I caught it soon enough so the pain didn’t wake me in the middle of the night.

Now, about ten days since I started oral antibiotics, after the topical version failed to work, I’m beginning to see improvement. Over decades of dealing with this problem hundreds of times, I’ve noticed that the turning point is when the outer perimeter of the ulcer begins to heal. The damaged skin slowly repairs itself from the outside in.

Not unlike a tree. When bark is damaged, especially when there’s a big gash, the tree will compartmentalize the wound by forming a callus layer of bark that looks like a thick ring. Gradually, the ring grows inward, sealing off the decayed tissue and preventing the spread of pathogens throughout the tree.

It makes sense, when you think about it. The worst part of any wound is at the center. The healthier cells are around the perimeter. So any healing would have to start where the tissue has the best circulation and access to nutrients and medications and other healing mechanisms.

Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to this past week of more horrible news here in the U.S., with the mass shooting in San Bernadino. Our nation is in great need of healing. And it certainly won’t come from the fear mongerers at the center of the public debate.

The healing will only come when people of good will speak up from the periphery and insist on sane, safe solutions to the proliferation of weapons of war in this country. We are facing not only a threat to national security, but also a public health crisis.

To those of you who are wondering why I’m writing about this instead of sticking to living with scleroderma, I can only say that it’s weighing heavily on my mind. I feel stressed every time I watch the news. That stress affects my body’s ability to heal.

Each of us has a part to play in helping our country to heal. None of us can stand at the edges and simply watch. I’m trying to sort out my own piece, as I write to you here.

With that in mind, I leave you, Dear Reader, with John Donne’s famous words, written originally in the form of a meditation in 1624:

No man is an iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. . .

Meditation 17, Devotions upon Emergent Occasions

Image Credit: Rene Cerney

Slip Sliding Away

Evelyn Herwitz · December 1, 2015 · 1 Comment

November disappeared at midnight, slipping out the back door. No snow here yet, but the trees are mostly bare now, except for the oaks that hang onto their shriveled brown leaves well into winter. Temperatures have dropped, and I have to propel myself out of the house for my afternoon walk, bundled in my long down coat and warmest hat. Even wearing insulated gloves, my fingertips burn from the cold.

But walk I must, or I get far too stiff working at my computer much of the day. The fresh air clears my head and the exercise gets my heart pumping and blood circulating. It also helps me to remember what I need to do next.

All of my friends in their sixties joke and commiserate about our less-than-sharp memories. There are the words that won’t come when beckoned, the names that elude recall, the purposeful trips to one room or another—punctuated by the inability to remember why it was necessary to go there in the first place.

It’s reassuring to know I’m not alone in this, but I find it disconcerting, nonetheless. All too often, I’ve been misplacing things—my cell phone, or keys, or a book that I was sure I had in one room that seems to have walked to another all by itself. I’ve left the house, certain that I had everything I needed for the day, only to realize when I’m too far from home that I forgot something. I should use a pill minder to be sure I’ve taken all my meds on schedule, even as I hate to admit I need it.

I don’t know if this is simply due to the natural aging process or the fact that I need more sleep or some combination thereof. Hormonal changes since menopause certainly muddied the waters. I feel like my memory gets worse when the days grow short and it gets too dark, too early—it’s time to hibernate, and I just can’t hold as much information in my head.

I keep a detailed journal, files of correspondence and spread sheets to track my work for my clients. I’d be lost without those records. I maintain similar files for family business and long to-do lists. I have a notebook that I carry with me to all my doctor’s appointments, or I’d never remember our conversations. But I used to be able to manage all the day’s details without writing everything down. No longer.

I also can’t remember all the details of family history the way I once could. I used to have vivid memories of my childhood and our early years with our own children. Now, my younger daughter will mention an event that’s as clear as day to her, but I have to dig deep to picture it. Very frustrating.

I suppose that as the layers of memories accumulate over decades, there’s just that much more to sift through. But I want to be able to remember everything the way I used to. Ironic that I can remember how I used to remember. It’s just the what that’s acquired a mind of its own. I keep wondering if this is just a temporary state of affairs, or if I’ve reached some kind of tipping point that requires acceptance of the inevitable: the older I get, everything just takes longer, including memory recall. At least I have all my journals—a trunkful—to fall back on. And all of my other writing.

As for the immediate challenge of memory lapses, it’s time to develop some new strategies. I’m sure there are plenty of apps to help, although keeping a small notepad with me at all times is probably the best, most obvious, low-tech solution. As long as I can remember where I put my pen.

Image Credit: fabrizio turco

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