Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

Mind

Sew-sew

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I’ve had some sewing projects in mind for months—in particular, a dress that I sewed up last summer in a test fabric that I liked so much, I’ve been wearing it on hot days. It would look lovely and feel great in a very soft purple cotton blend that I’ve had in my fabric stash for, literally, decades.

So, with my digital ulcers doing better (summer bonus), though still bandaged, on July 4th I took the afternoon to cut out the pattern pieces. (I use a rotary blade for precision and ease of handling.) In so doing, I realized this would be a tricky project, because the fabric is so soft that it slips and stretches if I’m not careful.

Yesterday it was quite hot outside, in the 90s, so I had to put on the A/C. We have heat pumps that double as air conditioners, and they blow cooled air. Very effective, but with my Sjogren’s, they also dry my eyes even more than normal. But I had the time to start sewing, and I set to work.

It took me about a half hour to thread my serger, and more time to diagnose an issue with my sewing machine, which kept jamming until I realized that the thread had jumped one of the guide loops. The first dart sewed up perfectly. The second slipped despite pinning it in place (a challenge with bandaged fingers) and I had to remove stitches and redo it twice more. But I was not discouraged.

Four more seams on the serger sewed up nicely. I pressed everything carefully and moved on to the next step, a bias-bound neckline. And here’s where I ran into trouble.

When I made the test version, on more stable cotton, I was able to easily manipulate the material and sew it perfectly. But this fabric was a whole other animal. Using the same approach as last time was, simply put, a mess. I couldn’t control the fabric, my stitching was uneven, and I quit two-thirds of the way through the process because I realized it would not work.

Part of the problem was my hands—I could not feel the fabric through bandages in order to guide it in place. And part of the problem was my eyes—so dried from the A/C that my vision was blurring. Even using a small focused light wasn’t enough help.

So, with some difficulty I pulled out the stitches and put the project down. I have an idea of how to fix it, and enough left-over fabric, if needed. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s to stop when I’m frustrated, set the problem aside, and give myself time to rethink my approach. It’s really hot again for the next couple of days, so I’ll need to take both my very dry eyes and my hands into account.

But I will finish the dress.

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.

Stand Up Act

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I’ve been thinking a lot about my posture, lately. Back in May, after I performed a scene from The Glass Menagerie as the culmination of my spring adult acting class, I watched a video of same and was dismayed to see how stooped I’ve become. Some of this is just due to aging, loss of elasticity, and my shrinking spine cartilage. But I also observed how I pull myself inward physically, a deep habit of protecting my hands. While others may not notice this, it was quite striking to me.

Nothing like watching yourself on video to get a reality check.

Ever since, I’ve been trying to remind myself to stand up straight, both to improve my overall health (the more I stoop, the more my whole body feels out of whack) and mental attitude (facing the world head-on). It’s getting a little bit easier, but my slouchy stance is like a strong rubber band that snaps back.

So, I’m going to try Pilates again. The last time I took a class was before Covid, probably even a few years prior to the pandemic. A couple of years ago, I tried yoga, only to throw out my back. It took weeks to recover, and I never returned. I used to enjoy Pilates, especially using the reformer equipment, and I really need a way to strengthen my core.

I found a studio that’s closer than the one I had been attending the last time, and my free intro half-hour is this Thursday. This studio also seems to have a really good range of classes for all skill levels, so I can work my way back into it. Only one problem: They don’t post their rates. Which I don’t like. This studio is part of a franchise, and obviously they want to hook you in with a free trial rather than scare you off with high prices.

So, I’ll just have to try it out and see if it’s worth whatever they are asking. I have enough experience with Pilates to know good instruction when I find it. And my health is priceless.

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: Joyce Hankins

What Next?

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Somewhere I read recently a recommendation that resonated, a way to manage stress. The concept was to “shorten your horizon.” The idea is not to stop setting goals or making plans or other future-oriented tasks. Rather, it’s about adjusting how far to look down the road in anticipation of events.

Given all the scary news of late, this seems like a sound approach to coping. Given, also, that I have a fiction writer’s imagination—both a blessing and a curse—I find this appealing. If I focus only a week ahead, rather than a month or six months, or a year, or, good grief, even beyond that, I have a much clearer grasp on what is more likely to happen, how I might be affected, what I can and cannot influence, and how to adjust expectations and plans accordingly.

Of course, reality has a way of throwing all of that into the hopper. The only truth we ever know is what is happening in this moment. And living fully in the present is truly the only way to find fulfillment in each day.

Which is why shortening your horizon can help you stay more in the present. If your mind is not always preoccupied with the future, especially the far future, you aren’t as distracted from appreciating what’s in front of you—particularly relevant with so much trouble in the world.

This is also an essential skill set for coping with a chronic disease like scleroderma. You need to learn what to watch for, seek out excellent medical advice, follow your treatment plan, but also appreciate what each day brings. Years ago, when I was first diagnosed, I decided I didn’t want to know the odds of survival, which turned out to be one of my best instincts. At the time, the expectation was about seven years, a terrifying prospect. I intuitively learned to focus on a shorter horizon back then, because to do otherwise would have been paralyzing.

So, here I am again, relearning that same lesson, as it applies to life in a tumultuous world. It’s second nature for how I manage my scleroderma. Now I just have to figure out how to master that outlook for events even farther beyond my control.

It’s a work in progress.

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: Nicole Avagliano

Serenity Break

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I am way over the top with too much stress in the world. I suspect you are, too. So last Friday, I was very glad to attend a meeting at a beautiful Massachusetts Audubon sanctuary. This was a gathering of people who are working on ways to mitigate climate change and engage our communities in sustainable, resilient practices, not just in our home cities and towns, but for our entire county in Central Massachusetts. Always good to get together with good-hearted, civically involved folks who are committed to improving our neck of the woods.

But the best part of the meeting was the setting. You don’t need to drive far here to get out of the city and find some beautiful scenery. And in this case, grazing sheep.

So, Dear Reader, I share with you this picture I took, to remind myself of the wonderful, calming a-h-h-h I felt, being there. Hope it gives you a window of calm, 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.

Checking Up

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Since I’ve returned home from our trip to Germany, I’ve had a lot of doctor’s appointments. Not because I’ve had an emergency or other complications. Just because my schedule fell out this way. Every so often during the year, the appointments stack up, like planes over Logan.

So, I’ve had an echocardiogram at BMC, a follow-up with my periodontist about my tooth extraction and pending implant, a check-up with my BMC pulmonologist #1 who follows me for interstitial lung disease, a check-up with my NP gynocologist, and a meeting with my new local rheumatologist, since my previous one left the practice. Later this week I have a check-up with my BMC rheumatologist, and next week appointments with my BMC pulmonologist #2 who follows me for Type 2 pulmonary hypertension, and with my podiatrist on the South Shore who saves my feet. I have a bookmark sticky note in my planner to remember to schedule a few tests for the fall, before the next round of visits.

Then I get a break for a few months, assuming all goes well.

It’s a lot of driving and time, and it can get tedious and exhausting. This is a complex disease that involves a lot of details and coordination of care. But I’m grateful that I have an outstanding team in place here at home and an hour-or-so-depending-on-traffic-away in Boston and environs. I’ve been dealing with scleroderma and its various manifestations for more than four decades, so it’s just all part of the rhythms of my life.

I’m also grateful that our gerontology team makes house-calls.

Stay well, all.

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: Kelsy Gagneben