Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

Smell

Speechless

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So, just in time for New Year’s, we had yet another Covid scare this past week. Al came home two Fridays ago feeling a bit off. Sure enough, by Saturday morning, which was Shabbat for us and Christmas for many others, he was totally congested and starting to cough.

Fortunately, I had a rapid test at home, and his result was negative. But by Monday evening, my neck glands were swelling and my throat began to feel scratchy. He continued with a lot of coughing and other cold symptoms, and I proceeded to lose my voice to laryngitis, plus develop congestion, coughing, sneezing, and GI issues. Aches, chills, and fatigue for a couple of days, too.

Al’s rapid test was confirmed midweek by a negative PCR test, and I got my negative test result back on Sunday. But as I write on Monday evening, my voice is still quite hoarse. Al is doing much better, and I’m approaching normal, otherwise.

I have not had a respiratory virus like this since I started masking almost two years ago. I have no idea how we got it, but it goes to show that there are still plenty of other nasty viruses circulating, just like every winter here in the Northeast.

I also have come to realize that my Sjogren’s Syndrome is playing a far bigger role in how I respond to such viruses. Having a dry nose and mouth, not to mention dry eyes, makes it that much harder to flush the germs out of my sinuses. And to recover my voice.

So, I’m pushing fluids and limiting conversations. And being very selective about going out in public. I ordered new KN95 masks for each of us (I need kid’s size, because my face is so narrow).

Hoping we’ll get lucky and avoid Omicron. But at least I know my immune system works against a random virus. With my full set of vaccinations, I have a good shot at fighting off this latest variant, too, if what seems like the inevitable happens.

Here’s hoping, by the next New Year, this will all be a fading memory. Stay safe out there.

Post Script

With this post, I have been writing Living with Scleroderma for ten years. My first entry was on January 3, 2012. Hard to believe that what began as a way to finally come to terms with this strange and rare disease publicly and to share what I’ve learned with others has evolved into a decade’s-long chronicle. At some point, I’ll run out of things to say (even without laryngitis!). In the meantime, thanks to all of you, Dear Readers, for sharing the ride.

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: Arwin Neil Baichoo

Testing, Testing, 1-2-3

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Over the past 20 months, I’ve had plenty of Covid tests. Mostly, I’ve been tested to meet requirements for certain diagnostics, such as a pulmonary function test, or to comply with protocols for my eye appointments at the local optometry college. I’ve also been tested when we’ve had a few Covid scares at home. All have been negative, thank goodness, and all have been PCR tests that take about 24 hours for results.

This weekend, however, for the first time, I conducted my own rapid Covid test, prior to attending a dinner party with friends, as an agreed-upon safety measure. I was able to snag a couple of boxes of BinexNOW Covid test kits ($14 apiece), which contain two tests each, a few weeks ago. Now the tests are out of stock at most places, including Walmart online, which is how I found mine, thanks to a tip from a friend. Hopefully the supply shortage will ease soon. Our city received nearly 70,000 free test kits last week from the federal and state governments, but those are being distributed (appropriately) to those most at risk. So, I’m glad I planned ahead.

The process was interesting. There’s a nose swab, a dropper of special solution, and a card that serves as the test medium. First you wash or sanitize your hands. Then you open the card, check to see that the light blue control line is visible, and place it on a table. I assume it has to be on a level surface. Next, you open the little solution tube and add six, count ’em, six drops to the larger of two holes in the card. And, warns the directions, don’t touch the dropper to the card! This step proved a bit trickier than I expected, mainly because it’s hard for me to squeeze little plastic droppers. But I managed.

The next step is to swab your nose, making at least five circles inside each nostril, lasting at least 15 second on each side. Now, I’ve had my nose swabbed plenty of times, and it never bothers me. However, there is some kind of solution on the swab that really tickled. I had to clench my teeth so I could tolerate it.

Finally, you insert the swab into the card via that large hole until it bumps up against the edge of a second, smaller hole, and turn it five times (if memory serves me correctly). You unpeel the adhesive strip on the card’s edge and close it over the swab, so the whole contraption looks like a giant lollipop. Then you wait 15 minutes to read the results in the little window on the front of the card. If only the top purple line appears, you’re negative. But if you see a second purple line, then you’re positive. It reminded me a bit of waiting on a home pregnancy test.

I set my watch for 16 minutes, just to be sure. Lo and behold, only one purple line. Hurray! Not that I expected a negative result, although it was quite reassuring.

As Omicron spreads exponentially, I’m expecting this to become routine. And even with three Moderna jabs and plenty of precautions, I would not be surprised if I still test positive at some point, given how contageous this new variant is. Hopefully not, but if I do, hopefully a mild case. The reality is that with all the masking, I haven’t caught a cold or other virus that I know of since all this began (knock on wood). At some point, Covid will evolve into an annual endemic like the flu. That cannot happen too soon.

Meanwhile, we’re profoundly fortunate to live in a country that provides vaccines, with new antiviral pills a few months away. This wave is certainly serious, and many will suffer who have chosen not to be vaccinated, not to mention all the health care professionals who are exhausted from protecting us. But a year ago, before the vaccines, this was so much worse. We know more, we have some powerful medical options, and masking works.

Stay safe out there.

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.

What I’m Grateful For

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What a difference a year can make. Last Thanksgiving, our younger daughter couldn’t come home from Philly because of Covid risks. We had a small celebration with our eldest, who lives only an hour away. But the holiday was overshadowed by all the uncertainty and infections and deaths wrought by the pandemic.

This year, we’re looking forward to all four of us being together on Thursday and to seeing extended family over the weekend. We’re all vaccinated and boosted, so I’m much more relaxed about it than I was last November.

So, of all that I’m grateful for this holiday—our family, dear friends, a nice home in a peaceful neighborhood, a supportive community, the ability to work for myself and pursue my own writing, relative good health despite scleroderma, and more—the thing I am most grateful for this Thanksgiving is the Covid vaccine.

It is an absolute miracle. It is worth the temporary side effects. It prevents serious illness. It saves lives. It has protected me for many months, now. I fear how I would have fared during the Delta wave this summer without it. As cases again surge in Europe and here in the U.S., primarily among those who are not vaccinated as colder weather drives us indoors, I profoundly hope that more people will realize the incredible gift of this scientifically sound and safe vaccine, and get protection for themselves and others around them.

This is my 500th post on Living with Scleroderma. I could never have imagined, when I started this blog on January 3, 2012, that I would be writing about surviving a global pandemic nearly ten years later. Just typing that sentence is mind-boggling. We can never know what is coming next. My hope for you, Dear Reader, is that you make the most of each and every day, whatever it brings—and bring your best to it. That’s really all that any of us can ever hope to do.

Be well, and happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate.

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: Eric Tompkins

Winter’s Breath

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The city swept our streets last week, clearing mounds of brown leaves that neighbors had raked or blown into piles along the curb. Then the wind blew and rain fell and more leaves speckled lawns and sidewalks and pavement.

The trees always win, and that’s fine with me. Fallen leaves return nutrients to soil. And I like their sound and earthy smell as I scuffle through them. A child’s pleasure, it’s one of the rewards of forcing myself out the door to take my walk when it’s colder and the sun sets too early. My neighbors wear warm coats and wool hats as they walk their dogs. We all feel winter’s breath.

My fingers, too, are registering the approach of colder weather. The heat is on in our home, and my skin is dry. I’m up to four digital ulcers again, after a really long stretch of only one or two over the summer and well into fall. For now, no infections, although I’ve been on and off antibiotics for months, and my right thumb is not happy with my typing.

This morning I see my dentist, who had a new flipper made for my missing tooth. I’m hoping it will be easier and sturdier than Version One, which I’ll also have her check. Since I got my implant two weeks ago, the flipper no longer fits. I have yet to decide if this false tooth was worth the money, but I also have at least two more months to wait until I can get my crown and have all my teeth again—that is, assuming that the other lower front tooth, which is also resorbing, can stay put for a while longer.

So it goes. Managing my scleroderma is always a process of fine tuning every day. After 40 years, it’s just part of my routine—time consuming, but mostly white noise. I prefer to focus on living.

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: Johannes Plenio

Falling Back

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On Sunday we made the big shift, setting clocks back an hour to Eastern Standard Time and befuddling our brains in the process. Wait, the sun is nearing the horizon and it’s only four o’clock? Every year we go through this rigamarole, and every year I feel the darkness settle.

Sunlight in November is precious. I used to hate this month when we turn back the clocks, bringing nighttime all the more near. But in recent years I’ve come to appreciate it, despite too-early sunsets and crumbly brown leaves. The light is stark. It casts bare branches silver by day and coats them gold by late afternoon.

Nowhere is November light more beautiful than on Cape Cod, where Al and I spent the past weekend. We walked beaches at sunset, nature preserves at Noon, rediscovered a beloved bookstore frozen in time since the sixties, ate many good meals, and just enjoyed a much needed break. Here are some of my favorite photos from our trip. Enjoy!

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.