Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

dressing for winter

Thawing

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Winter’s grip is at long last loosening. The icy ruts on our street mostly melted as temperatures rose into the 40s on Monday. The sun shone all day. Snow drifts are slowly, slowly shrinking. Buds are visible on the Callery pear in our front yard.

And somewhere under all that snow, I’m sure there are crocuses waiting for the sun to warm the frozen earth just enough for their tender leaves to push up and free.

Hard as it is for my internal clock to adjust to that first Sunday when we jump forward to Daylight Savings Time, it’s a delight to have the days feel longer again (even as I know it’s just an artificial shift in how we perceive when the day begins and ends).

March can be a deceptive month here in New England, promising spring and then dashing hopes with a late snow storm. But I’m feeling optimistic. According to the weather reports, the Jet Stream has finally moved farther north, which means we’re in for an easier, sunnier spell.

We’re certainly due after all that record-breaking snow and cold. My hands have taken a beating this winter. I’m finally weaning myself off a long round of antibiotics to clear up two infected ulcers, and I have five fingers swaddled in bandages as intransigent ulcers gradually heal. Spring can actually be my toughest season, though, so I’m hoping these will continue to improve.

Even still, there’s just something about seeing the promise of new leaves on the trees and watching water bubbles slide beneath the icy crusts along the street that I find reassuring. No matter how bitter the winter we’ve endured, the snow will melt, the temperatures will warm and the world will turn green once again.

I’m looking forward to wearing something other than the same sweaters, in varying combinations, and foregoing multiple layers—leg warmers, wrist warmers, two or three tops, wool pants, neck scarf, down coat, outer scarf, wool hat, insulated gloves, boots (have I forgotten anything?)—every time I go out the door. As it is, two of my good cashmere v-necks, which I’ve had for years, finally wore out with holes at the elbows. Maybe I’ll figure out a way to shorten the sleeves.

Most of all, I’m looking forward to walking outside with my coat open and a warm breeze on my neck and the sun warming my face.

Spring officially arrives a week from Friday. Oh, yes, I’m ready.

Photo Credit: dsearls via Compfight cc

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.

Under Wraps

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Ah, yes. It’s that time of year when it takes 20 minutes to bundle up and head out the door. Maybe not for everyone, but most certainly for me—all those snaps, zippers and the inevitable struggle to grasp the wrists of my sweater so the sleeves don’t bunch up inside my coat.

SnowsuitI’m already into my full-length down Eddie Bauer, gloves, a wool beret and scarf, sometimes even leg warmers. All this, of course, over two sweaters, warm pants and fleece wrist warmers—my go-to outfit for working at home, writing at my computer, which inevitably makes me cold even with the heat on, because I’m sitting still for so long.

Even if all those layers can sometimes feel like a mummy’s wrap, however, it’s nothing compared to the bulk I used to wear as a kid.

Remember snow pants? With skirts? In my elementary school, in the ‘60s, girls couldn’t wear pants to school. I had this water-resistant pair of red snow pants, with suspenders, that my mom would insist on me wearing over my plaid wool kilts to school—that, plus tights, of course, red rubber overshoe boots (the kind with the little elastic loop that you slipped over the rubber button to supposedly keep out the snow), a matching red parka with a hood and red wool mittens.

Those snow pants, practical as they were, made my skirt bunch up at the crotch. I hated wearing them to school. I would waddle out of the house to the bus stop. Getting dressed for recess was a big, long process—probably harder for the teacher than for us kids.

Playing in the snow at home was another matter. I loved to make snow men and snow angels in our front yard, and the snow pants were tolerable for those activities, mainly because I wore pants underneath.

For fall, I had a tan wool duffle coat with toggle buttons. No fancy light-weight, super breathable, heat-retaining fabrics back then. Most of the time, wool was sufficient.

Once, however, on a chilly late fall day, out on the playground, the wind kicked up. A couple of my little girlfriends and I huddled together and complained to the teacher in charge. “You’re just a bunch of sugar plums,” she teased. “It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Go and play.”

To which we responded by walking arm-in-arm within her earshot and chanting, “It’s cold, it’s freezing, it’s terrible!” We’d have been better off running around, but we had fun being miserable. Then we played hopscotch until the bell rang.

Some 50-plus years later, I’m still of both minds about the weather. There’s that part of me who absolutely hates the cold here in New England, all the layers and the numbness in my fingers and transitioning in and out of cold when I venture out for errands or appointments.

But there’s the other side, as well, who loves the four seasons, even snow, and views the challenge of dressing for my severe Raynaud’s as one more game to play. I may gripe, but ultimately, it’s all about finding the right clothes, giving myself enough time to get dressed and mastering layers. It also helps to have warm clothes that are comfortable and make me feel and look my best.

Certainly not snow pants.

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.