Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

managing chronic disease

Cooped Up

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It’s 30 degrees F here today, but the real feel is about 19. It snowed over the weekend, just over four inches of fluffy white stuff, very pretty for a day and now shrinking into icy clumps. It’s too cold for me to take a walk, and the streets are patched with ice.

Ugh. I know it’s a lot colder elsewhere in the world, and there are far too many other urgent issues that demand concern. But right now I’m just feeling stuck inside, when I do my best thinking outside.

My ulcers are healing slowly, a bit better than last week, thanks to starting antibiotics when I realized I had at least one and possibly two infected fingers. But I still can’t do a lot of typing. Which also helps me think.

So I am just muddling along, trying to make the most of this cold day without getting too stuck in the muck I can’t control. I think we could all use a shovel to dig ourselves out, right about now.

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.

Improv

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I need to keep this short today, because my left ring finger is very sensitive, and it’s my main finger for typing with that hand. I’ve been losing the nail, and the skin beneath it is quite irritated. So I am typing with my usual three fingers on my right hand (thumb, ring and pinky) and using a rubber-tipped stylus to press keys with my left. Normally I use just my thumb and ring finger on the left.

This is slow going, sort of, because I can’t look at the screen as I type. But it’s better than nothing.

Over the years, I’ve learned to type seamlessly with only five fingers. I don’t think about it at all, until something like this happens. I hate voice-activated software, because it slows down my thought process and requires a lot of corrections—or, at least, it used to the last time I tried it, which was about seven years ago.

So, for now, I’ll keep up with this hunt-and-peck method until my finger heals up. Maybe I’ll even learn to type this way without looking. And who knows, maybe I’ll find an even better solution for the next, inevitable time ulcers get in the way of writing.

When things fall apart, creative opportunities abound.

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.

A Dozen Yellow Roses

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Monday marked our 40th wedding anniversary. A major milestone, indeed.

On Friday, Al brought home a dozen yellow roses to mark the occasion. On our first date 40 years ago, he brought me a dozen yellow tea roses, with the throw-away line that he was supporting his local florist. It was quite the surprising and touching gesture, especially on a blind date back in 1984. While that wasn’t the only reason I married him that December, it certainly helped.

The first year of our marriage was tumultuous. Al’s mother suffered the first of two debilitating strokes, Al became her front-line caregiver with my support, then he caught a serious case of mononucleosis and ended up in the hospital with a ruptured spleen and emergency surgery. He came home from the hospital the day before our first anniversary.

Meanwhile, back in January, a few weeks after we got back from our honeymoon on Cape Cod, I learned that I had some kind of autoimmune disease that was causing my fingers to swell and migrating arthritic pain. It was either rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, or scleroderma, which I’d never heard of.

We made it through that year and many other health crises in the decades, since. We raised two extraordinary daughters. We both worked hard at our careers, and we were both laid off and had to reinvent ourselves professionally, well into middle age. We shepherded our aging parents through their own infirmities and deaths. We continue to be active volunteers in our various communities. We cherish our travel adventures together.

No marriage is easy or perfect. We are very good at driving each other up the wall, across the ceiling, and down the other side. But Al has always been there for me, and I, for him. When we wed in 1984, I worried that the year was perhaps a bad omen. But here we still are, approaching what may actually be an Orwellian era, side by side. To say I’m grateful is a vast understatement.

Happy Anniversary, Al. I love you.

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.

That Time of Year

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It’s darker and colder, and winter is definitely on its way here in New England. Most of the leaves have fallen, and the city has swept the streets, so we no longer drive amidst canyons of leaf piles. Halloween witches and Thanksgiving turkeys have given way to Christmas lights and inflatable snowmen.

My fingers are not happy. As the temperature drops and the air gets drier, my skin becomes more fragile and ulcers appear. Right now, there are five: one on my left thumb, a couple on my right thumb, one on the tip of my right index finger, and one on the tip of my right ring finger. I am, as you’ve undoubtedly surmised, right-handed.

The thumb ulcers are nothing new. I have these perpetually, year-round. In fact, I can’t recall when I last was able to go without bandages on either thumb, mainly due to calcinosis lurking beneath the surface. The index finger ulcer is new, however, due to another calcium deposit. It is healing, slowly. The ring finger ulcer is more like a thin opening in the skin surface due to dryness. It is harder to heal, maybe because the skin is just very delicate.

So, I clean and bandage them twice a day and am very careful to keep them free of infections. It’s such an ingrained routine at this point that I don’t think much about it—except that I’m going through boxes of bandages at a faster rate than normal. For most of the summer and fall, I just had my thumbs to deal with.

There is some judgment involved, however. At what point do I leave off the bandage at night and allow my finger to heal on its own? It’s a real balancing act. If I forgo the night bandage too soon, the ulcer can get too dry and uncomfortable and wake me up. But if I rely on bandaging too long, then the ulcer may take even longer to heal and possibly get larger. I recently weaned an ulcer on my left index finger successfully. I’m working on the right ring finger this week.

I also need to be careful not to overuse my hands. I was reminded of this over the holiday weekend, when I was immersed in a sewing project that required some hand sewing—a frustratingly major challenge, given my resorbed fingertips and all the bandages. The result was an enlarged ulcer on my right thumb. Aargh. At least the project came out well.

Always an adjustment, heading into winter, no matter how many years I’ve lived with scleroderma. So it goes.

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.

Interior Monologue

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In less than a month, 25 days, to be exact, the winter solstice arrives here in the Northern Hemisphere. Which means that in just about two months, even as the sun will be visible about the same lenth of time as it is today, it will seem a little brighter because we’ll be gaining, instead of losing, a few seconds of daylight every day.

I always feel better when we finally reach the first day of winter. Even when it’s cold in January (though that is a relative concept these days) and I have to layer up to keep warm, even as our heating bill balloons, I feel a bit more optimistic, knowing that each day the sun will be shining a bit longer.

But, of course, this is all in my head.

So much of how we experience the world depends on the stories we tell ourselves. They can be empowering. For decades I have told myself that my scleroderma may limit me in certain ways that I need to respect, but it does not define who I am. That story has become my reality, and it’s enabled me to keep going.

But those self narratives, which are often not obvious when deeply entrenched, can also be the source of much pain. When we filter our lived experience through old, worn-out stories that were birthed in childhood, we get mired in doubts and fears and anxiety.

There are a lot of real reasons for doubts and fears and anxieties right now, but I am trying my best not to allow myself to get stuck in old, worn-out narratives that cramp my ability to see clearly how best to respond. It’s hard. Then I remember the natural cycle of the sun, admire November’s sharp shadows, and ground myself, once again. And if the prospect of lengthening days gives me a boost, even if it’s just in my head, I’ll take it.

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.