Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

Mind

Through Rain and Gloom

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It’s another one of those weeks when I have a cluster of medical appointments. And they involve a lot of driving. Monday dawned with a deluge of rain, which made the prospect of driving into Boston yesterday morning all the more delightful. Wednesday, the next double appointment day, will at least be sunny.

Both ways yesterday, the driving was intense. Visibility in the worst of the Nor’easter downpour (at least without snow, thank goodness) was about ten car-lengths. And, of course, there were some geniuses on the Mass Pike who chose to ignore all the electronic signs that observed that “wipers on means headlights on” and oh, by the way, this is the law.

The one big blessing in all this was that traffic was not nearly as heavy as usual, perhaps because people are taking off for the holidays ahead of time, or because they were smart enough to stay home. Despite all the rain, I was able to make the drive in a little over an hour, even driving below the speed limit.

I could have canceled and stayed home. But appointments are hard to come by, there’s never a convenient time, and I didn’t want to wait another few months to reschedule.

Most importantly, it was good to have my dental check-up and learn that my teeth have not resorbed more. It was also good to see my wonderful cardiologist, who gave me an A+ on my ECG and said my Type II pulmonary hypertension seems to be well-c0ntrolled with my current medication. There’s no cure for it, but I’m holding steady. And I need to exercise more. I know, I know. I will try to do better.

I was tired when I got home, but I made it safely and got the reassurances I needed that all is well, all things considered. Worth driving in a deluge.

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: Jessica Knowlden

600

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There’s something to be said for persistence. Or maybe just a well-honed habit. Whatever the reason, this is my 600th post on Living With Scleroderma. As of January, I will have been writing this blog for 12 years.

My body has aged and changed since that first post. Most notably, my hands required serious revision surgeries in 2017 and a long recovery. I developed Type II Pulmonary Hypertension in recent years (though I probably have had it, undiagnosed, for much longer). My mind is not as supple as it was when I started this project. My eyes require considerable tending for Sjogren’s dryness. I drop stuff too often. I need more sleep to function. And my hair is certainly grayer. Regardless, the fact that I remain healthy enough to keep writing is a profound blessing.

Here’s what I value about this blog: By giving voice to my experiences with this complex disease, I’ve become much more grounded. I no longer feel embarrassed when someone asks about my odd looking hands or stares at them. I no longer shy from talking about scleroderma with others. I no longer feel ashamed or awkward about it.

The other piece that I value highly: Hearing from you, Dear Reader, and how my weekly musings have helped you in your own life, with or without this disease. That’s the real reason I keep writing.

And so, my best wishes to you and yours for good health and joy this holiday season. That’s something we all need in the coming year. Be well.

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: Daniel Lloyd Blunk-Fernández

Into Winter

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It’s less than three weeks, now, until the winter solstice arrives here in the Northern Hemisphere, and I feel like a bear that’s ready to hibernate. By early afternoon, as the sun is already well past midpoint in the sky, I start yawning. I just want to wrap myself in a cozy blanket and take a nap.

To help me face the cold weather that has already arrived, I’ve been loading up on more warm clothes, thanks to Black Friday sales. My new winter boots, with toasty ankle linings, just arrived Monday, and they feel great. So did a soft wool turtleneck dress, a pair of gloves with open fingers that can be covered with a mitten cap, and a supply of more loose teas. The last item, on its way, is a little rechargeable light I can clamp onto a book while reading in bed under my down quilt.

So, I guess I’m as ready as I can be. My good, long, down winter coat still fits, and I finally was able to unjam the zipper to get another season’s use out of it. A good thing, because anything comparable to what cost me only a couple of hundred dollars a decade or so ago would now cost three times that. I checked.

And so I write, in lined leggings, a sweatshirt dress, a shawl, and wrist warmers, on Monday afternoon, with the electric heat on. I’m still cold. I think I’ll wrap my legs in a blanket, too.

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: Pavel Lozovikov

Fuzzy Thinking

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So, this just happened. I got a text message, supposedly from Nikki Haley, who, in case you’re not into U.S. politics, is running for the GOP nomination for president: It’s Nikki Haley. Do you have a minute to talk, Erin?

I promptly typed STOP and blocked the phone number.

Honestly, who thinks up these marketing campaigns? I have no desire to speak with Nikki Haley or any of her surrogates, if that is, indeed, who contacted me. Nor will I speak with anyone who thinks my name is Erin. Nor do I have a minute to waste on this distraction. The only plus: it gave me the opening for this blog post.

Which is about the multiple ways that we are pushed and pulled in so many directions that it’s hard to focus on anything substantive. Which is exacerbating what I’m finding more and more frustrating: the fact that my memory and attention, while still quite good, are just not as sharp as they were for most of my life.

Some of this is aging. I commiserate with my peers about the inevitable experience of walking into a room only to totally forget why I went there. Word finding, especially when I am stressed, is like tugging on a rusty file cabinet drawer. When I get blocked like this, I end up relying on words like “thingy” to express myself. Then there’s the aggravation of having two ideas in my head, writing one down, and in the process, forgetting the second idea until I sit back and let my mind settle.

Some of this is also about too much multi-tasking and interruptions and distractions and beeping and dinging computers, phones, and what-have-you. Tech gadgets certainly make life easier. I can’t imagine going back to using a typewriter, not only to avoid the wear and tear on my hands, but also because writing on a computer is just so much more intuitive and seamless. I value my iPhone, a portal to the world. But of course, that’s just the problem. There’s too much going on all the time that pulls me from what’s really important and requires concentration. It’s also a great magnet for procrastination.

So, aging and too many distractions are certainly contributing factors. But some of what I’m experiencing is brain fog that is associated with scleroderma. I had a conversation about this with my Boston Medical rheumatologist a couple of weeks ago. While scleroderma, thank goodness, is not associated with brain damage as are some other autoimmune diseases, like lupus, not much is known about what happens to people who have had scleroderma for decades, like me.

The way he put it was that people are living longer with scleroderma than in the past, but there have been no rigorous studies about how the disease affects the brains of those of us who have been dealing with this for decades. It’s possible that there is some impact on blood flow to the brain.

I found one study from 2021 that associated mild cognitive impairment (MCI) with systemic sclerosis (SSc), but the most relevant predictive factors were lower education, poor nutrition, and high ANA positivity. There are other studies that point to some mild decline in cognitive functioning in people with SSc. But I have yet to see any focus on long-termers like myself.

I was originally diagnosed with SSc, but am now catergorized as having localized scleroderma (LoS). Given some internal organ involvement, I’m probably somewhere on the continuum between the two. Regardless, something is going on. Maybe brain haze is a more accurate description than brain fog. My thought process is not blinded by fog; rather, it just feels fuzzier somehow. And because I’m very aware of it, it infuriates me, which doesn’t help, either.

What to do? The best way to deal with this, my rheumatologist agreed, is by doing the obvious: get enough sleep, eat properly, and exercise. With the arrival of colder weather, I’m falling short on the latter, which I know really does help to clear my head. So I need to get out there and walk, even if it’s chilly.

What else? Ignore ridiculous text messages from Nikki Haley.

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: Mathieu Odin

The Power of Art to Heal

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It’s been one of those stretches when all of my medical appointments jammed together. Since last Thursday, I’ve had one tele-med plus two in-person appointments at Boston Medical. Thank goodness for remote visits, or I would have had to drive into Boston to the same place on three different days instead of “just” two.

Even so, I am grateful for the excellent medical care I receive. I was reminded of this all the more while recently watching a new documentary, Angel Applicant, by filmmaker Ken August Meyer.

Meyer lives with diffuse scleroderma, the most aggressive form, and he tells of how he found comfort and insight into his experience from the art of Paul Klee, who died of complications from the disease in 1940, seven years after being exiled from Nazi Germany to Bern, Switzerland. Klee is a favorite of mine, too, for his luminous paintings, as well as for my sense of kinship with him as an artist who created some of his best works during the three years that he wrestled with systemic sclerosis.

Meyer’s film is the most meaningful, poignant, and true story of what it means to live with scleroderma that I have yet encountered. Though it is not in wide distribution, it won multiple awards this year and is currently available to stream on DOC NYC for $15, through November 26. I recommend it highly. You can find the link information here.

I must add that it was not easy for me to watch. Meyer’s experiences, though more debilitating than my own, resonated deeply. Everyone’s encounter with scleroderma is unique, and his has been brutal. Even as I have been living with my own version of this inscrutible disease for more than four decades, now, I gained a different sense of what I’ve been up against all these years that really shook me. At the same time, I profoundly appreciated how he has come to terms with all that scleroderma has thrown at him through his exploration of Klee’s exquisite art. We each have to find our own path in dealing with chronic illness. Meyer’s journey is inspiring.

Above all, the love of Meyer’s family and friends has been essential to his ability to persist through life-threatening challenges. I feel equally blessed.

To you and yours, Dear Reader, my best wishes for a healthy and happy Thanksgiving. Be well.

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: Communing with Paul Klee at the Museum Berggruen in Berlin, 2018. Photo by Al.