Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

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48 Hours

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It’s been nearly 30 years since I visited our nation’s capital. This past weekend, Al and I packed in a slew of sightseeing in Washington, D.C., around a family celebration in Virginia. In just over 48 hours, we visited the National Gallery, Lincoln Memorial at night, Vietnam Veterans Memorial (also at night), Supreme Court, Capitol grounds, Newseum, National Gallery Sculpture Garden, National Archives, Hirshhorn Museum and National Gallery East. On Saturday morning, in sweltering heat, we participated in the Families Belong Together protest rally in Lafayette Park, next to the White House.

I walked my feet off. It was worth it. The highlight of DC, for me, was seeing the original Declaration of Independence, U.S. Constitution and Bill of Rights at the National Archives. The parchment is huge, the writing faded, the signatures inscribed by human hands. The ideals endure. I was reminded by an exhibit about women’s suffrage at the National Archives and the chiseled words of Lincoln’s second inaugural address at the Lincoln Memorial of how much struggle and acrimony is embedded in our nation’s history. I felt the power and protection of the First Amendment in Lafayette Park.

Here are some of my favorite images from our trip:

The conclusion of Lincoln’s second inaugural address at the Lincoln Memorial
Lincoln Memorial at night
Seen in a garden on our way to Capitol Hill
Protesters outside the Supreme Court
Heading toward the U.S. Capitol Building
Section of the Berlin Wall at the Newseum
National Gallery Sculpture Garden
Families Belong Together protest in Lafayette Park
Calder sculptures at the National Gallery East
Saul Steinberg, Untitled (A Conversation), National Gallery East
Le Gourmet, Picasso, National Gallery East

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.

First Snow

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img_2491It’s always a surprise, that first coating of white. This year, it arrived on Monday, just an inch, already melting by mid-afternoon. But the flakes fell softly in the morning, fat, puffy, like thousands of tiny parachutes drifting earthward. Clinging to evergreens, disguising flaws, the snow absorbed sounds as it fell, hushing the world, slowing all down.

Mid-morning, as snow continued to fall outside my window, I was on a video conference call with people in New York City (rain), the Catskills (snow) and the Netherlands (almost never snow). The two young daughters of the Dutch woman overheard us discussing the weather and asked to see. My client in the Catskills turned his computer around to give them a peek of his blanketed yard. Their eyes widened with amazement.

By early afternoon, I had to go to the post office to mail some packages. Should I wear boots? I tried to slip on my rain boots but had to pull them off again. A few weeks ago, I kicked myself in the inner left ankle, one of those slips of coordination that occasionally plague my stride. This has morphed into an ulcer, then a rash from bandage adhesive. I saw my podiatrist last week, who prescribed steroid ointment and compression socks, and explained how weakened veins in my ankles are exacerbating the healing process. Which is why I couldn’t wear the boots. I opted for walking shoes with good treads. I’m hoping the ankle will improve by the time the serious snow falls.

Two o’clock, when I returned home, the sun was shining, the snow compacting as it melted. My footprints revealed slate. I shed shoes for slippers, ate some soup, forbade myself from reading any more news and got back to work. I didn’t notice the sun setting and the darkness settling in.

Winter is coming, and cold, and ulcers, and more snow than I want to contend with. The days grow shorter and darker. Headlines weigh on my heart. But halfway around the world, two little girls giggled at the novelty of a world transformed by white. I did the same when I looked out my window Monday morning. Let there be Wonder.

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.

Walk This Way

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Ever since we got back from vacation, I feel too sedentary. Instead of exploring for hours on foot (true, it was a bit more than my feet could handle), I’m sitting at my computer far too much. Ginger’s no longer here to bop my hands off the keyboard when it’s time to go out for a walk around the block. It’s all too easy just to keep writing and not get any exercise.

walk-on-1445129-639x424So I’m trying to change my habit. I’ve tracked a half-hour walking route around our neighborhood—a manageable distance—and my goal is to get my butt off the chair and out the door at least four times a week.

This is actually proving easier than I expected. In fact, it’s quite pleasant. (It helps to start a walking habit when it’s warm out.) I’ve made it out and about my route at least five times in the past week—even Monday evening, after a sweltering 90-degree day.

Em is home for a transitional break between her summer internship in D.C. and returning to grad school, so she’s joined me a couple of times for a walk-and-talk. On other days, I’ve enjoyed a chance to clear my head and walk in silence. There are plenty of street trees for shade and only a few cars on the side streets to watch out for. We’re fortunate to live in a safe neighborhood with plenty of dog walkers, cyclists, families pushing strollers and other folks out walking or jogging.

Sometimes, I find myself so deep in my head that I barely notice what’s around me. Other times, I try to focus on the colors of the houses and birdsong and gardens as a meditation, staying in the moment. I’ve decided it doesn’t matter which mode I’m in, as long as I stretch my legs, swing my arms and get lungfuls of fresh air for a good, aerobic half-hour.

What if it rains? Depends on how long and how intensely. My alternative is to go to the gym and ride the stationary bike—not as refreshing, but at least I’m exercising.

It remains to be seen how well I can keep this up as the weather gets cooler and, eventually, too cold for me to be outside. But I figure if I establish a solid pattern now, when the walking is easy, my body will get addicted to the exercise and I’ll crave it enough to stick with it.

I definitely feel better when I walk. And worse when I don’t. No doubt about that. I can do it any time I want. Best of all—it’s free.

So, no excuses. Time to get moving.

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.

Photo Credit: Francesco Maglione 

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

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I made good on my exercise commitment last week—I got to the fitness center twice, once for my barre class and once to ride the stationary bike for 25 minutes, plus I took half-hour walks on two other days.

Then I developed an ulcer in the nail bed of my left big toe. It’s infected. I have no idea how this happened. I am meticulous with skin care. It might have been as simple as picking up bacteria while walking around in sandals. Or just bad karma.

So, I’m back on antibiotics, limping a bit, carefully testing pressure on my left foot. I was able to walk around the block on Monday and get through most of the exercises in my barre class last night.

This is the minutiae of living with scleroderma. Just when you think you have everything in balance, something kicks it out of whack and you have to recalibrate.

But there are much more important issues in the world than an infection in my big toe.

On Sunday, at Al’s initiative, I joined my husband, our rabbi and cantor, and about a dozen other members of our synagogue at morning services at the local A.M.E. congregation. We came to show solidarity over the tragic shootings at the historic Emanuel A.M.E. Church in Charleston, S.C., last week.

Al had called ahead, the previous Friday, to ask if it would be okay with the pastor if we came. We were welcomed with thanks and gracious hospitality. Other members of the community came as well, in a spontaneous show of support. It was heartening to be part of a mixed sea of faces, all gathered to assert that what happened in Charleston was terribly wrong, that we care, that we must pull together as a society to end the violence and bridge the widening racial divide in this country.

Will any lasting good come of all those people, from different backgrounds, gathered together in prayer on a Sunday morning? I cannot say. But I know we helped to comfort our neighbors and sent good will out into the universe, and that must count for something.

After the service, we went out with friends for a Father’s Day brunch, then to the art museum, then home. Al mowed the lawn. I lay down and rested my sore foot.

My toe will heal, albeit slower than I want it to, with a combination of medication and careful tending. I will get back to my exercise plan. There will undoubtedly be other physical setbacks, but I’ll deal with those, too.

Would that our nation’s ills could heal as readily.

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.

Photo Credit: Stròlic Furlàn – Davide Gabino

Pep Talk

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No getting around it. I need more exercise. One weekly barre class is just not enough to stay in shape. Ever since Ginger died this winter, I haven’t been as good about taking a walk every day—no furry muzzle bopping my hands off the keyboard when it’s time to stretch and get out of the house. And I haven’t felt motivated to go to the gym. It’s chilly and impersonal and the three large flat-screen TVs broadcast an endless stream of bad news, too depressing.

But a visit with my cardiologist last week and my lead rheumatologist on Monday made it quite 2078973271_3307fc3441clear that I will feel a whole lot better if I move more. It’s critical for my longterm health and well being. (Not to mention body image—without Ginger’s nudging to walk regularly, I’ve put on five unwanted pounds since February—all below the waist.)

This has all been complicated by two issues: the fact that if I exert too quickly, I get short of breath due to some physiological complications of scleroderma, and the fact that my feet, despite all my efforts to find the right shoes, tire easily. They’re really sensitive from thinning fat pads, also due to scleroderma.

After long conversations with both trusted physicians, however, the bottom line is this: my body is high maintenance, but if I’m mindful of the boundaries of my endurance, the more I exercise, the more I’ll be able to endure.

So, I basically have to get off my butt and work out for a half hour at least three days a week.

I know I could listen to audiobooks or podcasts or music. But I’d rather read while I exercise. I have a backlog of books and New Yorker magazines. So my first strategy is going to be to try to read while I use the stationary bike. The treadmill is another option, but if I want to go easy on my feet, the bike may be a better bet.

Neither of these options sound thrilling. They don’t call it a treadmill for nothing. And a stationary bike is, well, stationary. But I can’t ride a regular bike anymore because of the pressure it puts on my wrists. So, I have to make the best of what I can actually do.

Another psychological obstacle to overcome: I will never look like all those pictures of buff, attractive people that decorate the fitness center, supposedly as motivation—”This could be you!” Nope. No way. In fact, I think those images do more to discourage me, because the ideal is so far beyond my reach. 

But the reality is that striving for an ideal body is so not the point. This is about building endurance, feeling more flexible and confident. Trusting myself that, even if I have this damn disease, I can still be physically strong.

My cardiologist said I shouldn’t overdo it, and there’s no need to do big, strenuous routines on the bike or to run on the treadmill. Just listen to my body and do what I’m comfortable doing, to start, and work up from there.

They convinced me. I know I have to. And who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise myself and actually enjoy the gym. Stay tuned. . . .

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.

Photo Credit: Harry Pujols