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Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

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Believe

Evelyn Herwitz · May 19, 2015 · 2 Comments

The world is a better place. On Monday, Mindi earned her Master of Social Work along with more than 250 classmates—idealists, all, who defy the critics and cynics who dominate our public discourse to devote themselves to improving the lives of the most vulnerable members of our society.

Am I a proud mom? You better believe it! There is nothing more rewarding than watching your oldest daughter emerge as an amazing young woman who has a great gift for helping troubled teen girls rebuild their shattered lives. Whatever she does from this point out, I know she will bring great goodness to whomever she touches.

It’s inspiring, too, to see so many talented graduates willing to take on a profession that does not compensate nearly enough for the value of the work—just because they believe in social justice, the power of empathy and the ability of one individual to make a difference for the better.

This, despite so much depressing news. In his commencement charge, the Dean ran down the list of recent tragedies—from the earthquake in Nepal to riots in Baltimore. We all took hope in the fresh faces beneath each mortarboard.

Even as I’m proud and grateful, I wonder and worry about the world that Mindi and her fellow graduates are taking on. Maybe it’s the speed with which we hear of terrible news—wars, natural disasters, exploitation and torture of innocents, riots, deadly disease, on and on—or maybe it’s the nearness of all these events via video and social media blasts, that makes the world seem so much more dangerous.

Or maybe it’s true. Or maybe I’m just getting older and feel more vulnerable.

It wasn’t all that rosy when I was in college in the 1970s, either. The Iron Curtain, China’s Cultural Revolution, Vietnam, Mutually Assured Destruction, Watergate—these were the headlines that defined my coming of age as an undergraduate. In 1980, when I earned my journalism degree (my second master’s), Americans were still held hostage in Iran, the Iran-Iraq War was raging, more than a thousand people died across the southern U.S. in a dire heat wave and Miami riots left 17 dead.

We just didn’t have 24/7 coverage coming at us from a zillion directions. CNN had only launched that June.

So, I will try to maintain my perspective and trust that Mindi and all of her wonderful fellow social work graduates will maintain their idealism and energy and belief in their ability to make a difference. And even if that idealism falters and is tested by harsh realities, I must believe that they will keep on trying. We need them, each and every one.

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.

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Filed Under: Mind, Sight Tagged With: family, resilience

If the Shoe Fits

Evelyn Herwitz · May 12, 2015 · 2 Comments

Nearly every day of the past year, rain or shine, snow or heat wave, I have been wearing the same pair of shoes—my trusty black Merrell clogs. They are lightweight, the fabric breathes, they work well with my custom orthotics and they go with many of my casual clothes. As the fat pads in my feet have thinned from scleroderma, my shoe options have become significantly limited, and I’ve adjusted my style accordingly.

pink sandalsBut I still wish I could wear a nice pair of shoes—albeit flats, since heels are now out of the question—with better dresses and skirts. Plus, it’s hard to go dancing in clogs.

Last week, on a whim, I went searching online just to see what else is out there, and was rewarded by a new find: Vionic. These shoes are designed by a podiatrist. They have proper arch support and very comfortable, removable insoles—you can substitute your own, if you wish.

Best of all—they’re stylish. Finally, shoes with good support that don’t look like tugboats on my feet.

I bought three pairs—tan loafers, black sneakers and pink thong sandals. The first two arrived just in time for me to bring them along to my podiatrist appointment and ask him to retrofit a couple of sets of orthotics. He was duly impressed by the insole that comes with the shoes—designed to correct pronation, so you don’t mess up your knees and ankles.

Even with the adjustments he made to my orthotics, I realized after experimenting that the loafers are more comfortable with the insole that comes with the shoe. Amazing.

I still love my clogs. They’re the most comfortable shoes I own, and the most reliable for driving long distances (my feet swell when I sit for any length of time).

But the loafers hold up well for walking on the street and standing for extended periods. The sneakers are so lightweight and flexible that they feel like slippers. And the sandals provide excellent arch support. Plus, they’re fun. You can’t help but smile wearing pink sandals with little sequins on the strap.

Vionic also makes ballet flats. I’ll have to wait for these until I pay off my credit card. But just the idea that there might be dress shoes I could actually wear is enough to hold me for now.

I realize there are many more pressing issues in the world than whether I can have a few different pairs of attractive shoes. But when you’re living with a disease that continually constrains your options and ability to look your best, this is news worth celebrating.

I refuse to give in to looking older than I am or frailer or more disabled than I need to be. When it comes to scleroderma, dressing well is one of the most important ways I know to fight back. It’s not about being narcissistic. It’s about giving yourself the good care and mental boost that you need to keep going.

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.

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Filed Under: Body, Mind, Sight, Touch Tagged With: body image, feet, managing chronic disease, resilience

Reprieve

Evelyn Herwitz · May 5, 2015 · Leave a Comment

The windows are open and James Brown belts “I Feel Good” on our local NPR station as I write at the dining room table this Monday evening. Earlier today, I took a walk without a coat, without a jacket, without gloves or a hat. All the trees on our street are leafing, the magnolias are in full bloom, joined by forsythias and rhododendrons, tulips and violets.

NYC SkylineIt actually hit 79 this afternoon when I was out running errands, although my Prius recorded the outdoor temp as 64. I think it was as shocked as I, that it finally looks and feels like spring.

Even better, I’m down to only four bandages on my fingers. Still on oral antibiotics to ensure that one very persistent infected ulcer continues to recede, oh so slowly. Both thumbs will also take more time to heal and a chronic spot on the inside of my right ring finger has acted up. But compared to where I was just a month ago, it feels like my hands are nearly bare.

This is all the more amazing, given that I did a lot of traveling last week. Business took me to Manhattan for an overnight and then a train ride back to Boston for another overnight, to conserve my energy for a writer’s conference the following day. I schlepped my wheeling carry-on bag around Midtown and Chelsea, down and up subway stairs (why are there so few escalators and elevators?), over curbs and streets and sidewalks being torn up and repaired, in and out of hotels, up and down train platforms. One very considerate New Yorker (yes, they do exist) helped me carry my bag up a second flight of subway stairs, but I did much of the hauling myself.

My hands, for the most part, did okay, since I was extremely careful with how I grasped the bag’s padded handle. But my right arm began to protest by the end of the trip. What a relief to discover that there’s a working escalator from the Amtrak platform to Boston’s Back Bay Station (not so for commuter rail tracks) when I arrived late Thursday night—and only a three minute walk to my hotel.

I was also compulsive about wearing gloves and using hand sanitizer throughout the trip. It paid off. No new infections.

I’m getting better at travel logistics. Definitely easier to pull this off as the weather improves. My new coat was just the right weight and protection for cooler, 60ish temps last week. And the travel blanket I carry with me provided the extra layer of warmth I needed on the train, which was way too air conditioned, per usual.

Coming home on the commuter rail to our home station, after a stimulating, rewarding few days, I was wiped. No energy left to read much or write on the train, just watched the scenery fly by. I was grateful I wasn’t driving. I was very glad to see Al, standing near the platform, as we pulled into the station. We enjoyed a lovely Shabbat dinner together at home. I slept soundly.

Tonight, the windows are open and its still 70 degrees. Soul Serenade is wrapping up with “Lord, I Feel Like Going Home.” It’s finally spring.

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.

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Filed Under: Body, Hearing, Mind, Sight, Touch Tagged With: finger ulcers, managing chronic disease, Raynaud's, resilience, travel

Coat Check

Evelyn Herwitz · April 28, 2015 · 4 Comments

Would someone please explain to me, when it’s still 50 degrees out, why stores are out of coats? I know it’s the end of April, but we’re far from the dog days of summer here in New England, and I don’t do all my shopping online.

104419903_e9171aaf64I discovered this strange fact of retail seasons over the weekend when I went hunting for a coat to replace my old spring/fall standby, which I’ve worn for at least ten years and is looking its age. I had a simple mission: find a shorter, wool coat that will keep me comfortable during transitional weather. Apparently this is something I should have thought of last August.

When I walked into a local Burlington (formerly Burlington Coat Factory, an off-price retailer specializing in outerwear—where I bought my now-ratty coat a decade ago), I encountered racks of summer shifts and prom dresses and all kinds of sports clothes. But where were the coats?

I asked a sales clerk. She brought me deeper into the store and showed me a few aisles amidst all the other clothes. “It’s the end of our coat season,” she said. “You’ll find the smalls over here.”

Did I mishear? I thanked her and went to look. There was one rack of small coats—including left-over winter jackets, a few raincoats and a collection of picked-over styles that clearly weren’t going anywhere. I walked around to the other side. All mediums. The next row were large and plus sizes. That’s it.

How could this be? I came here because of the coats. It can snow here in April. I know everyone else is running around in shorts and flip-flops because the sun is out, but I’m still cold, dammit!

So I started picking through the rack. I tried on long coats and short coats, designer labels and unknown brands, black, taupe, camel’s hair, red. Nothing looked good. They were either too big or too long in the sleeve or too wide in the back or too tight. Another woman was sifting through the rack, and we commiserated.

I was about to give up my quest when I discovered the clearance rack, with a few smalls mixed in with the rest. And there, hiding between an ugly black wool duffel and another black coat with a garish brash zipper, was a chocolate-brown-wool Calvin Klein trench, mid-thigh. I tried it on. The back didn’t ripple or buckle. The sleeves were roomy and didn’t bind. The pockets were in the right place, easy for my hands. I liked the color and the cut. And it cost only $55. The only drawback was the fact that the sleeves were a bit long, but I figured, at that price, I could always have them altered. Meanwhile, they’d keep my hands warm.

So, I bought it. One of life’s little victories. I’ll be wearing it when the rest of the world is going barelegged, but at least I’ll have style.

Photo Credit: Doug Ellis via Flickr

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.

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Filed Under: Body, Mind, Sight, Touch Tagged With: hands, how to stay warm, managing chronic disease, resilience

Another Year Older

Evelyn Herwitz · April 21, 2015 · 2 Comments

I had a wonderful teacher in the first grade. Her name was Miss Kelly, and she had short, curly dark hair, a wide oval face and a big smile. She also seemed quite tall, although I wasn’t a reliable judge of height at that age. And she created fun class plays.

Crane BeachThat year, we performed what would now be described as karaoke. Picture a group of six-year-olds singing and pantomiming on stage to musical hits, circa early Mad Men, and you get the idea. (“How come everyone is laughing?” I remember wondering during our performance.)

I haven’t thought of that first grade play in years, but for the past couple of days, one of our songs arose, unbidden, from the recesses of my gray matter and has been cycling through my head—Sixteen Tons, sung by Tennessee Ernie Ford.

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt. . . .

It was my birthday on Saturday. Fortunately, the debt part isn’t what brought the song to mind. But another day older is how I felt, for better or worse.

“Are you excited for your birthday?” Mindi asked me a few days before.

“I don’t know. I guess so,” I replied. After turning 60 last year, 61 seems a bit anti-climactic. And there’s something about adding the 1 to the 60 that tipped the scales toward the “older” side of the equation.

When the day arrived, however, I was in a great mood. Something magical always happens to me on my birthday, a feeling that the day is different, special, blessed. The weather was perfect—70s, sunny, azure sky. Flowers that had been hiding for months suddenly dotted lawns up and down our street. On my walk back from Shabbat services at our synagogue, I noticed violets, always a spring favorite.

That evening, to celebrate my birthday, Al and I drove to a dinner concert in a small town in northern Worcester County, at a restaurant venue that draws class acts from around the country. The show did not disappoint: Michael Allman, son of Gregg, performed amazing R&B and Allman Brothers’ classics with Charles Neville of the Neville Brothers on tenor sax and Jeff Pitchell, an outstanding blues guitarist. I was transported back to my freshman year of college, when Sweet Melissa, Midnight Rider and Whipping Post blasted from stereos in every dorm.

Continuing my birthday weekend the next day, after brunch with friends, we drove an hour-and-a-half to the North Shore, to Crane Beach, beautifully maintained by the Trustees of Reservations, a great conservation organization here in Massachusetts. It was chilly, the water was a deep blue and the air, crisp. But I’d forgotten my hiking shoes in our haste to leave, I should have brought an even warmer coat than the one I had, and the latrines were—well, gross is an understatement.

So I was pretty cranky as we set out on our beach walk. I love the beach in any weather, but I couldn’t appreciate it, at first. After grousing to Al as we walked a ways, I plopped down on the sand while he explored closer to the water (he, of course, was quite comfortable walking barefoot while I was all bundled up and still chilly) and lay back to absorb some sunshine.

The break helped lighten my mood. Soon I was exploring patterns in the rocks and the soft shadows left by footprints in the sand. I took some pictures. Al strolled ahead to inspect what was beyond the next curve in the shoreline. We passed other spring beach-lovers, some in winter jackets and walking shoes, others in shorts and flip-flops. I drew my layers closer to ward off the stiff breeze and kept on walking.

Crane Beach EstateAl noticed a path leading up the side of the dunes, with a boardwalk. At first, I was hesitant to climb, but curiosity got the better of me, so up we went.

Well worth the effort, as the path led to a grassy expanse overlooking the ocean—blue and green and tinged with beige above sandbars—and a nearby island. When we turned around, we realized that this was the view at the bottom of a sweeping lawn that extended from the hilltop Crane Estate, part of the Trustees of Reservations property.

As we hiked back down to the shore, I began to feel a bit tired. The wind was still stiff, and we had to walk into the breeze all the way back. By the time we finally reached the boardwalks leading to the parking lot, I was really dragging. We made a brief stop at an antiques store (overpriced) on our drive through a nearby town, then found a local restaurant a few blocks away for dinner.

Waiting for our meal, I was quite weary. “Are you okay?” Al asked. “I think so,” I said, though I wasn’t really sure. I was worried. Here we had just walked the beach for a few hours, and I was totally spent. We’re planning a trip to Europe this summer, with an aggressive travel itinerary, and all I could think of was—how am I going to keep up with what I want to see and do?

The meal revived me, though I could only drive half the distance home, and had to trade off with Al after we got on the Mass Pike. “I’m feeling my age,” I told him.

It wasn’t until later that night, after I had showered and gotten ready for bed, that a light bulb went off in my head: It’s hard to walk in sand. It takes a lot of extra energy, especially when you’re wearing the wrong shoes. And it was cold out, and it’s even more tiring for me to walk into a chilly headwind. Yes. Indeed.

So I stopped catastrophizing about our trip, at least for now. I do have to pace myself when I’m physically active. That’s the bottom line. But I can do it. I have to believe that.

In our first grade class play, the one other song I remember singing was I Whistle a Happy Tune from The King and I. We each had a partner, and we took turns singing and trying to whistle along to the music. I’m sure we looked adorably hilarious for all the parents in the audience, but I took it all quite seriously, as only a six-year-old can: 

Make believe you’re brave
And the trick will take you far
You may be as brave
As you make believe you are . . .

Yes. Indeed.

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.

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Filed Under: Body, Hearing, Mind, Sight, Smell, Touch Tagged With: body-mind balance, managing chronic disease, Raynaud's, resilience, travel

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About the Writer

When not writing about living fully with chronic health challenges, Evelyn Herwitz helps her marketing clients tell great stories about their good works. She would love to win a MacArthur grant and write fiction all day. Read More…

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I am not a doctor . . .

. . . and don’t play one on TV. While I strive for accuracy based on my 40-plus years of living with scleroderma, none of what I write should be taken as medical advice for your specific condition.

Scleroderma manifests uniquely in each individual. Please seek expert medical care. You’ll find websites with links to medical professionals in Resources.

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