Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

resilience

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.

Inner Artist

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When I was growing up, my favorite thing to do in the whole world was drawing. Give me a pencil and a pad of paper, and I was in heaven. One year for my birthday, my parents gave me a drawing kit by Jon Gnagy, whose popular 1960’s Learn to Draw show was must-see TV for me. Along with an instructional book that taught you to analyze objects in terms of spheres, cones, and pyramids, the box contained drawing pencils and paper, a soft eraser, a blending stick, and charcoal. I spent hours in my room, sitting on the floor, working through all the exercises.

As I got older, my favorite drawing medium became pen and ink. But sepia conté crayons, colored pencils, and pastels were also high on the list. Every summer, I would bring a drawing pad and implements on our family vacations to Cape Cod and sketch at the beach. I took summer art classes as a preteen and a drawing class in college, watercolor and drawing classes in my twenties, and since then, occasional classes at our wonderful art museum. For our young daughters, I would draw illustrations and, in a reprise of childhood, would bring my pencils and paper to the beach for our Block Island vacations.

In recent years, however, I have hardly drawn at all. Some of it has to do with damage to my hands from scleroderma. In fact, that’s probably the main reason. Not that I can’t still draw, but when I have a lot of ulcers, it’s just harder to hold a pencil for any length of time. Or so I tell myself. I use triangular rubber grips on my drawing pencils to ease the pressure, and that definitely helps. But something has been holding me back—most likely, just reluctance to push my hands too far.

Even so, I’ve had a New Year’s resolution for more than a year to get back to drawing, which I managed to do only twice in 2024. Each time, once sketching my African violet, and once on Block Island last June sketching Al at the beach, gave me great pleasure. But I still kept putting it off.

On Sunday, I decided to try again—this despite having five bandaged fingers right now. I needed to do something joyful and rejuvenating after a week of such dark news. I pulled out my colored pencils and my mostly empty drawing notebook, set up a vase of roses on a low stool, so I could look down into the blossoms, and drew. It was wonderful. I sank right back into that peaceful, meditative space of observation and interpretation. No matter the ulcers, I could still control the pencils as well as ever. When I finished, I felt relaxed and happy and in tune with my inner, non-verbal artist.

She’s been clamoring for attention. She deserves more.

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.

Inflection Point

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Monday dawned bright and bitter, with a sparkling five inches of snow weighing down evergreen boughs. As I write, I’m wrapped in my warmest long sweater coat, grateful to be inside, even as I enjoy the view. My appetite is back after last week’s close encounter with a norovirus, for which I am also grateful.

I am writing this on Monday afternoon, glimpsing a flash of a red cardinal in the yews beyond my window, because I have chosen not to watch the inauguration of our 47th president. I have never missed a presidential inauguration until today. I am refusing to watch, because I need to set boundaries for my emotional, physical, and spiritual well-being. In the weeks leading up to today, I have struggled to stay calm.

Our nation is at an inflection point. Democracy is at serious risk. Political power is for sale, and fear is the powerful’s cudgel.

How to stay sane and healthy—and be a responsible citizen in our country’s time of need? I have a few priorities, at the outset:

Stay informed by reliable, independent, accurate news sources. My new favorite is The Contrarian, which was launched last week by former Washington Post columnist Jennifer Rubin and ethics attorney Norm Eisen. Their commentary on the inauguration was priceless—sharp, insightful, and funny, which is a great salve.

Limit consumption of the above so that it doesn’t consume all of my attention. Not yet sure what the right balance is. This is a work in process. My blood pressure will be my guide.

Call my Senators and Congressional Representative to express my concerns. Here in Massachusetts, I’m fortunate to be represented by ethical politicians with a lot of experience, who share my values. But I’m also trying to encourage friends and family elsewhere to do the same. You can find your Congresspeople here. Our voices matter, especially collectively.

Invest my energy locally, to improve my community. For several years I have been involved in efforts to preserve and grow our city’s urban forest and strengthen our ability to withstand climate change. This volunteer work is very rewarding and has literally been saving my sanity. And the trees we plant will outlast whatever happens in Washington.

Write. I continue to work on Novel 2 and seek a home for Novel 1. My art is my way to understand my world. It is an outlet for angst and a refuge. It is both the most difficult work and the most essential.

This journey is not the one I expected to be traveling at this point in my 70 years on the planet. But here we are. The only thing that is certain is the present moment. And the only thing we can control is how we choose to respond.

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.

Resolute

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It’s nearly New Year’s. Already, 2025 looms as an even bigger challenge than 2024. But, we won’t know until we live it.

Which is why, this year, for my resolutions, I have a simple, basic goal. I call it the Three C’s to Strive For:

Inner Calm.

Clarity of mind and purpose.

Courage.

That’s it. I know this will be a constant work in progress. I’m really good at finding lots of things to do to take my mind off what is worrying me. Sometimes this is very productive. Other times, it’s a smokescreen.

How to proceed? I know meditating will help with the first two. Lots of deep breathing. Exercise helps, as well. Limiting my news diet and social media are essential. Writing my novel is essential, too. My acting class, which starts up again mid-January, is a surprising source of focus and clarity.

Courage is a learned skill. My ongoing volunteer work to ensure that our Fair City is able to thrive as it withstands climate change is both a source of uplift as well as an ongoing lesson in how to make a positive difference locally. That’s helped me to become braver in public and to build a team of allies. I hope to keep strengthening those muscles.

Even as I write this, however, I also know that there will be plenty of set-backs and difficulties ahead—but not to let any of that predict what can or will come next.

The only thing that’s real is the moment we’re in. My best wishes to you and your loved ones, Dear Reader, for a healthful, resilient New Year.

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: Oliver Cole

Sleep Tight

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Cold weather makes me want to hibernate. Four days from the winter solstice, I start yawning by mid-afternoon as the sun slips past the trees beyond our home.

Fortunately, the cold weather also makes it easier for me to fall asleep and stay asleep most of the night. I may be jinxing myself by writing this. I sure hope not. Sleep is what’s saving me these days.

I’m also having a lot of very strange dreams. These usually surface just before dawn, when I have to make the inevitable trek to the bathroom. But I’ve been able to drop off again, because it just feels so good to get warm under the covers. And the strange dreams typically dissipate soon after I wake for the day. Which is a good thing. Because they are really strange.

In about a month, daylight will feel longer once more. It will get easier to drive home from Boston on the Mass Pike in the afternoon by late February, when the solar glare going west is less severe. I’ve been noticing buds on the trees and shrubs around our home, always an encouraging sign of new life to come.

And, if I’m lucky, I’ll continue to sleep soundly, regardless of the onslaught of bad news that floods our world. It’s essential to my health and well being, to my resilience and ability to cope. All the more so in such stressful times.

I hope, Dear Reader, that you are sleeping well, too. If you’re struggling, here are some helpful tips from the Mayo Clinic.

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: Daniele Levis Pelusi