Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

feet

Making Progress

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As I wrote several weeks back, I’ve restarted taking Pilates. My purple pool noodle adaptation for padding the reformer’s foot-bar did not work, unfortunately (the hollow core was too narrow to fit over the bar), but my instructor found a great alternative—black foam pipe insulation. It’s about an inch thick and just the right amount of squishy protection for my sensitive feet.

So, with that issue solved, I’ve been enjoying my weekly class. The routine varies each week, and sometimes, even though this is a basic level, it is a bit of a struggle. But overall, I am feeling better, my posture is slowly improving, and I’m able to manage more spring tension on the reformer. I can walk up stairs a bit more easily, too. My lower back remains achy and stiff in the morning and when I sit too long at my computer, but it eases up with stretches and movement. My cardiologist has always told me that you can strengthen your heart and muscles at any age, and he’s right (of course).

In fact, I find myself looking forward to class, and even contemplating going more than once a week. (Although after last week’s workout, I really needed a full week’s break to let my body catch up.) The best part of the routine, aside from a sense of accomplishment, is the endorphin boost from exercise. It really does help my moods and relieve some of the mental and emotional stress that is all too present these days.

My other reward, since the studio is near a Whole Foods market, is to pick up some granola cereal and organic fruit, maybe some fresh flowers, too, after class. The first time I went to the intro session (when my shoulder developed a weird tremor), I could barely walk to my car, let alone across the large parking lot to the store. Now, even after an intense workout, I walk the distance easily.

So, 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: Katelyn Perry

Noodling Around

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Last Thursday I went to my new Pilates studio for the third time. I found an instructor who understands my need for adaptations without my even having to ask, I made it through the class without any setbacks, and I’m gaining strength little by little.

But there’s an issue I need to address. At this studio, you wear grip socks to help you hold onto the foot bar with your toes. The bar is only slightly padded, not great for me, because nature’s padding on the balls and heels of my feet has thinned out due to scleroderma. Years ago when I took Pilates at a different studio, they had optional foam padding to cover the foot bar. This studio doesn’t.

I’ve tried using metatarsal pads inside my socks, but they’re cumbersome and don’t really offer enough cushioning. What to do? I asked my instructor, and she said the foam padding you can buy online for a Pilates reformer is overpriced. As we brainstormed MacGyver alternatives, we came up with pool noodles—those long, colorful foam cylinders that kids use to learn to swim.

I did some online research, and sure enough, she was right about the pricing of the official foam pads for foot bars, ranging from about $35 to over $100. So, I checked out pool noodles. It turns out, there are two kinds—solid core and hollow core. I wanted the latter, because you need to be able to fit it around the bar. A little more research led me to a really cheap option: pool noodles at Dollar Tree for $1.59.

Given that it’s already August, pool noodles are in short supply, but at the second Dollar Tree store I visited, I found one of the last noodles in the display box. And, it’s purple.

I checked the dimensions of the official foam pads (23 inches long), marked the length, and set to work with an Exacto blade, a rotary cutter and point turner from my sewing box (the latter to help separate the foam), and a pair of very sharp shears. The operation—shortening the noodle and then slicing one side lengthwise—took all of 10 minutes.

The foam sheds a little, so I don’t know if that will be a nuisance. I also don’t know how well it will actually fit around the foot bar. But for $1.59 and 10 minutes of effort, it’s certainly worth a try.

And, it’s purple.

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.

Re-Boost

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Thursday afternoon, as I awaited my podiatry appointment*, a young woman at the other end of the waiting room began to sneeze and sniffle. She wore a mask—below her nose. When the nurse came to check her temp before her appointment, she asked the young woman how she was feeling. “Fine, thanks,” the young woman replied. Yeah, right, I thought.

Maybe it was just allergies. Or maybe she was in denial. In any case, at least she was not seeing my doc, and she was in an exam room away from the one I was given a few minutes later. I kept my own mask on tight and reassured myself that I was getting my second Covid booster in a few hours.

Omicron BA.2 is way too contagious, and I’ve read far too many accounts of people getting a “mild” case that feels like being run over by a truck, so I jumped on the opportunity when another booster round was approved by the FDA for people 50 and over last week. I was hoping the side effects wouldn’t be too bad.

That proved true Thursday evening. By Friday morning, I just had a sore arm and “Moderna rash” where I got the shot. By midday, I started feeling achy and tired, but I was still able to get some work done. Then I needed to lie down. After a good nap and Tylenol, I began to feel better. By Saturday, I was pretty much back to normal, although the rash will still take a few days to clear. This has been my pattern with each vaccination.

A small price to pay for a better immune response to this clever, cruel virus. I’d much rather have a day or two of side effects than potential lung damage from Covid on top of my already scarred lungs from scleroderma. Given that I can’t control the safety precautions of those around me, I’m grateful that I have this way of taking care of myself and my family.

* As to my troublesome corn, my podiatrist said there was no way, most likely, to keep it from coming back, but after removing it, he ground down a spot on the underside of my foam insole to relieve pressure. So far, so good. I ordered my own version of this tool, which is actually the same as a toenail grinder for pets, so I can adjust my other insoles at home. Just need to put a little chalk on the corn, step barefoot on the insole to mark the spot, and grind a depression on the opposite side.

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: Nick Fewings

Step-wise

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I see my podiatrist this week. It’s a good thing. Every couple of months, he rescues my feet from corns and tiny bits of calcium emerging from the tip of my right big toe. He also trims my toenails, which I can do for myself with a little difficulty, but still need help.

Scleroderma has caused the fat pads on my feet to recede significantly over the years, which makes it difficult to walk on hard surfaces. I really can’t go barefoot on our hardwood floors without discomfort. It feels like walking on bones. That lack of natural padding also makes corns more of an issue, especially when they form over joints.

Since last summer, I’ve been trying to manage a particularly annoying corn that keeps reforming over the metatarsal head of my fifth toe on the bottom of my left foot. Even with orthopedic foam inserts in my shoes—a necessity to cushion the impact of walking—I find myself rolling my left foot toward my instep, to avoid the feeling of stepping on a pebble. This places extra pressure on the metatarsal head under my big toe, which is also uncomfortable, and I end up walking with a slight limp and a rolling gate that aggravates other joints and my back.

It’s amazing how something so tiny can make it so much harder to get around. I find myself avoiding my neighborhood walks, lately, because of all this. And that means I get less aerobic exercise, and my weight starts creeping up again. If I don’t walk, I don’t sleep as well. And so on.

I’ve tried corn plasters and salicylic acid drops, which help a bit, but I can never fully extract the corn myself. Which is why I’m glad to be seeing my podiatrist this week. I’m hoping he can help me to figure out a way to keep the corn from reforming, although he’s told me recurring corns are a really common issue for his scleroderma patients.

My other possible solution is to cut away some of the foam in my left insert, essentially to make a little doughnut hole right where my corn touches it—kind of like a built-in corn cushion.

Living with scleroderma is, in some ways, a never-ending series of problems to be solved. Even after 40 years of managing this disease, it continues to surprise me. And so, my goal is to keep one step ahead, before the little stuff turns into something even more complicated and difficult to manage.

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: Christopher Burns

One Small Step

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I’ve written a number of posts over the years about decluttering—my office, my home, my head. But this past Sunday, I actually did something about it. I Marie Kondoed my closet.

For those who may not have heard of the cultural phenom, Marie Kondo, she is the bestselling author of The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up and star of a Netflix series, in which she helps people with far too much stuff to pare down to what they really love and need. There are plenty of memes and jokes and cynicism about her key question for each item, “Does it spark joy?” But after my younger daughter encouraged me to watch her show, it only took a few episodes to convince me that Marie Kondo is onto something simple and seemingly obvious, but profound when you put it into practice. When you clear out the clutter, you make room in your mind and life for what truly matters. That, and those of us living in the richest country in the world have far more stuff than we will ever really need in our lifetimes.

It took me about three hours to go through all my clothes. Kondo’s method is to pile everything on your bed and assess it piece by piece. Keep what gives your pleasure and give away the rest, with appreciation for the role it played in your life. Some of the decisions were easy. There were clothes I haven’t touched in years taking up space; clothes that no longer fit; and clothes that I really didn’t like but had kept because they might come in handy some day.

There were also clothes that I really love, and kept. And there were some items, particularly some of my warmer winter clothes, that I’m a bit tired of but can’t afford to replace quite yet, so I hung onto them out of pragmatism. The best finds were two timeless evening dresses that I had worn for each of my daughter’s bat mitzvah celebrations—that still fit. This was quite the miracle, especially because I love those dresses, not only for their style, but also for the memories.

Then there were the shoes. I ended up bagging about a dozen pairs, acquired over the years. Shoe shopping is always a struggle, not only to find the right fit in the store, but also to find shoes that won’t trigger the neuropathy in my feet, due to thinned fat pads from scleroderma. This is an attribute that I can only determine after wearing the shoes for a while, and since most stores only let you try them out around the house, I can’t always assess them until I wear them outside. If they don’t work out, it’s too late. Someone will benefit from my mistakes.

In the end, I brought six garbage bags of clothes to Goodwill, plus a shopping bag full of hangers. It felt good. I gave away some nice things that I hope many someones out there will enjoy. My closet is organized, and I don’t have to struggle to pull a hanger from an overcrowded rod, or dig through piles of unworn sweaters on the shelf. I can see everything, and everything is in its place. It looks pretty, inviting.

Best of all, I feel like I’ve made room in my brain. It’s an aaahhh sensation, like there’s more space to breathe. Less clutter means clearer focus.

Now, it’s time to tackle my office.

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.