Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

Touch

A Pain in the Back

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Last Thursday evening I went to a yoga class at a nice studio not too far from home. I’ve taken a fundamentals class there several times over the summer to try to improve strength and flexibility, with mixed success. But I had one more class left on my paid series, and I wanted to use it up.

Everything was going well for most of the hour-long class, with a nice meditation, sun salutations to warm up, cat-cows, child’s pose (I cannot do a downward dog because of the pressure it puts on my hands and wrists, so this is a substitution per one of the instructors), and a warrior two pose. Then our instructor had us move into a triangle pose, which is essentially a twisting side bend with your legs forming two legs of the triangle, one arm down next to your forward leg and the other arm raised to the sky. It was hard, and I couldn’t hold it while she went around the room answering questions. So I stood up.

And immediately realized I had injured my lower back. I was in considerable pain, to the point where it was very uncomfortable to walk back to my car. I chose not to say anything. I just wanted to get home and lie down.

Heat, ibuprofin, Tylenol, Aspercream, you name it, I tried it. By midday Friday I decided I needed to check with my PCP, and the geriatrics team recommended getting a lower back X-ray to rule out a stress fracture. I was able to drive to the clinic and carefully walk to the radiation department. The tech was sympathetic and I got through the procedure. Supposedly, it would be reviewed within a couple of hours, but no report appeared in my electronic medical record by the end of the day.

However, by Friday evening I was able to stand for about a half hour and help prepare dinner, so that was encouraging. By Saturday morning, I was feeling more mobile, though I rested a lot that morning and later afternoon. By Sunday, I was able to do my regular set of stretching exercises and drive into Boston to have a planned lunch with a friend and see my eldest daughter.

As I write on Monday, I still have some discomfort, but am basically back to my normal mobility. And the X-ray report came back negative for a stress fracture, though there are some age-related issues with osteopenia and thinning of cartilage between spinal disks. That would explain some of the low level discomfort I’ve had for the past few years. But thank goodness it wasn’t anything more serious.

And yet. For those few days when my mobility was really hindered, I felt quite vulnerable. The experience drove home the obvious fact that a strong back is essential for everything we do. I’ve never had back problems up to now, so I’ve taken my spinal health for granted. No longer. I’m not risking yoga again, but hope to get back to Pilates, which is excellent for strengthening core muscles and back support, this fall.

Meanwhile, I’ll keep tending my back and stretching and walking, for as long as I’m able.

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: Point Normal

What I Have in Common with Simone Biles

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My favorite unit in high school gym class was gymnastics. Not that I was any good at it. Decked out in our light-blue gym uniforms (one-piece cotton bloomers with a snap front that were the antithesis of style), I would attempt a simple vault over the horse, try to calm my fear of heights as I walked on the balance beam (in sneakers!), and swing from the uneven bars. The cool girls could do a penny drop. Not I.

Even still, I enjoyed the challenge (except the beam). Maybe because I was just competing against myself and not in my usual role as the weak link in a team sport. Maybe because it made me feel strong. My one big accomplishment in my senior year was clambering up a thick rope to the high gym ceiling, something I never expected to be able to do.

Maybe that’s why gymnastics has always been my favorite part of the Summer Olympics, especially watching young women achieve seemingly impossible feats of strength and coordination. Even if I could never do that myself, I thrill at their achievements. This year was supercharged by Simone Biles’s triumphant return. What a marvel to behold!

Much as I admire Biles for her extraordinary athleticism, I admire her all the more from what I learned in a profile in The New York Times: that Biles and I share a particular love—of turtles. As a young athlete, she went at her own, unique pace to build her repertoire, not caving to unrealistic goals set by coaches. She knew herself and what she needed to learn and grow, in her own time. Her mother, Nellie, called Simone her “little turtle.” According to the article, Nellie used to tell her, “Don’t worry that you are moving slowly. Just be sure of what direction you are going in.” Before every meet, she would give Simone a tiny porcelain turtle. Others picked up on the theme, and she now has a huge collection.

I, too, have a collection of all kinds of turtle figurines. This started when I was a marketing director at a small New England college. I used to give little plastic turtles to my staff as a reminder to take the time to do the job right, rather than rushing and having to spend twice as long fixing it. This guidance was deeply appreciated, especially in a pressure cooker environment rife with unrealistic demands.

Over the years, family and friends have added to my collection, which resides on the bookcase in my home office. I am known for fawning over turtles in their natural habitats. I remind myself that often the best way to solve a problem is to approach it as a turtle, especially when it comes to figuring out the plot in the novel that is bedeviling me at present. Or managing yet another digital ulcer. Turtles have become my go-to metaphor for resisting social and cultural pressure to always be doing, busy, rushing, as a measure of self-worth and accomplishment.

Biles astounds us with her superhuman athleticism, but she became a GOAT (greatest of all time) gymnast by taking her time to get there, including her difficult and courageous decision three years ago to drop out of the Tokyo Olympics when she knew she needed to stop. She draws on her own mental health struggles and early years in foster care to promote the non-profit Friends of the Children, which supports mentors of foster children and other kids at-risk, at an annual international gymnastics invitational in Houston. Sales of a toy mascot help to raise money for the non-profit.

It is, of course, a turtle.

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.

Room to Grow

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Three years ago, I planted my first bonsai, a Brazilian rain tree. Miraculously, it has survived (unlike my second bonsai, a juniper that I neglected to water often enough) and thrived. Thrived so much, in fact, that it needed a new, larger pot.

On Sunday I attended a re-potting class for tropical bonsai. Sure enough, when I extracted my little tree from its terracotta pot, its roots were dense and intertwined. The first step in re-potting a bonsai is to carefully tease out the remaining soil between the roots as well as loosen the roots themselves, which look like a tangle of pale hair. This I was able to do and, with help of my instructor, settle my bonsai in its new home, an oval, aqua-glazed pot.

By the time I was finished—having tapped in all of the potting mix with a chopstick to eliminate any air bubbles, re-wired the bonsai to secure it to the pot (my instructor did that part), wired some more branches to train them in an aesthetically pleasing shape, pruned excess leaves, and given the tree a thorough soaking—my bonsai was not looking very happy. Brazilian rain trees close up their leaves when sunlight diminishes or they are stressed.

But back home, on its bed of pebbles that trap moisture, spritzed with water, and out of the sun for a few days, it perked right up. By Monday morning, it was the beautiful bonsai you see in the photo, above.

It was sweltering at the bonsai workshop, and I was not feeling great, either, coming down with some kind of respiratory something (so far, still COVID negative, thank goodness), so I lay down for a nap just before 2:00 p.m.. Then my phone started beeping with the news of President Biden’s momentous decision to drop out of the race and endorse Kamala Harris as the Democratic nominee for president.

What a tumultuous roller coaster of a week in our nation. I am deeply grateful for our President’s leadership and putting country first. And grateful that we have room to grow beyond this dark period to build a better future.

How my bonsai began in June 2021

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.

Sew It Goes

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I spent the Fourth of July sewing. My project: a midnight-blue knit pencil skirt. It was an easy project, and I finished it Friday morning.

I needed a win. The longer term sewing project I’ve been struggling with for months, a tailored wool blazer, has gone through two pattern tests (muslins or toiles), and though I’m getting closer to the right fit, it will require a third toile that I don’t feel like doing right now. Among other things, it’s just too hot.

So I decided to make something simple. A good strategy. Especially since it took me an hour just to thread my serger, which is old and clunky but still sews a very clean, trimmed and overcast seam, perfect for knits. The skirt is nearly perfect. (Only I know where the mistakes are, and they are minor and don’t show.) It fits well, is comfortable, versatile, and an immediate wardrobe staple.

Another bonus: After I finished, I realized that the project had completely absorbed my attention. An excellent escape from all the stress of our current moment in history. What better way to ground myself than by creating something I enjoy wearing? So, I will be sewing more simple projects this summer, using up some of my decades-old fabric stash as well as a few new fabric purchases. No hand sewing required. I’ve found several great patterns and am looking forward to making them.

And keeping my mind clear and calm.

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.I spent

Hand-off

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I’ve been dropping things lately. This is largely due to calcinosis in my thumbs that makes it harder to hold on. My dexterity waxes and wanes, depending on how a particular piece of calcium is working its way out through the skin, and currently some shards are on the move.

And so, Sunday night, when I tried to lift a large pot of cooked pasta over to the kitchen sink to strain out the water, you guessed it, the pot slipped and I splashed hot pasta water all over the kitchen floor. Thankfully, not the cooked pasta! And I managed to move out of the way so I didn’t get burned.

But I was really annoyed with myself. Al was home, fortunately, and calmly cleaned up all the water on the floor with old newspapers and towels, while I groused.

Finally I calmed down. And the meal turned out well.

I don’t usually get so frustrated with my hands. I try to take very good care of them and respect their limitations.

Which, of course, are my limitations. It’s a strange aspect of this disease, that my hands can look and feel so alien and disfunctional, but they remain a part of me. Even after four-plus decades living with scleroderma, I sometimes still find this surprising. I see my hands all the time, but there are moments when I’ll catch their reflection framed in a mirror and am shocked at how bizarre they look.

Then I remind myself that they are me, that regardless of how strange my hands appear, I’m still able to do as much as I do. And to be grateful for that. And to forgive myself for getting frustrated. It just is.

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.