Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

sewing

Threading the Needle

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I finished sewing another dress this weekend, just in time for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which begins today. It’s customary to wear something new for the holiday. As per usual, however, I started making this dress, which I’ve been thinking about all summer, just as the weather was turning cooler. It’s a lightweight, very silky rayon knit, beautiful but tricky fabric (also per usual—I always seem to pick what’s hardest to handle). Not autumnal material.

By a stroke of good fortune, however, Tuesday here is supposed to be warm again, for one day. I’m writing on Monday afternoon, fingers crossed. And if it is actually cooler than expected, I bought a long-sleeved silk shirt and leggings to wear underneath. So, hopefully, this will all work out as planned.

In any case, I picked the fabric both for its floral print and drape. It’s very soft and wonderfully fluid. Which made it challenging to sew. And so, I had to hand baste some critical seams in place before stitching them with my sewing machine. This included tacking down the inner waistband facing and the very, very, very long hem (it’s a wrap dress).

Hand sewing is the best way to achieve accuracy in a garment, but it is extremely challenging for me at this point. Not only because my fingertips have resorbed significantly, but also because I have so many bandages on my fingers. Which makes it hard to feel what I’m doing.

Not only that, threading the needle is tricky because of my very dry eyes, due to Sjogrens. No matter what I do of late with various eye drops, I cannot clearly see something as small as the eye of a needle, especially of a fine needle for sewing rayon. It takes numerous tries, using a pair of tweezers to hold the tip of the thread and turning the needle this way and that to see the eye. Eventually I get it threaded, but not without uttering a string of choice words.

And inevitably, when I get to the end of a particular piece of thread, but not quite, I manage to pull the needle too far and lose the thread. Which means threading it again. Especially on a very, very, very long hem. Which lets loose another long string of choice words.

So why do I do this to myself? Sewing is supposed to be a fun, relaxing hobby, right? I guess I’m just stubborn. I refuse to give up this skill that I’ve honed since I was a teenager. The results are never perfect, but it always gives me a boost to wear something I’ve made well.

I’m really pleased with the dress, and even if I only get to wear it once until the weather warms up again next summer, it’s a good way to start the New Year—stubbornly refusing to relinquish my ability to make something beautiful, especially 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.

Sew It Goes

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I spent the Fourth of July sewing. My project: a midnight-blue knit pencil skirt. It was an easy project, and I finished it Friday morning.

I needed a win. The longer term sewing project I’ve been struggling with for months, a tailored wool blazer, has gone through two pattern tests (muslins or toiles), and though I’m getting closer to the right fit, it will require a third toile that I don’t feel like doing right now. Among other things, it’s just too hot.

So I decided to make something simple. A good strategy. Especially since it took me an hour just to thread my serger, which is old and clunky but still sews a very clean, trimmed and overcast seam, perfect for knits. The skirt is nearly perfect. (Only I know where the mistakes are, and they are minor and don’t show.) It fits well, is comfortable, versatile, and an immediate wardrobe staple.

Another bonus: After I finished, I realized that the project had completely absorbed my attention. An excellent escape from all the stress of our current moment in history. What better way to ground myself than by creating something I enjoy wearing? So, I will be sewing more simple projects this summer, using up some of my decades-old fabric stash as well as a few new fabric purchases. No hand sewing required. I’ve found several great patterns and am looking forward to making them.

And keeping my mind clear and calm.

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.I spent

Sew On and Sew Forth

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Finding truly warm, affordable clothes with some style is not all that easy. Ever on the lookout, I find that too many offerings that look warm are actually made with synthetic fibers, like polyester, acrylic, or nylon, which don’t really keep you warm and can trap perspiration, making you colder. But good wool garments are expensive.

So, I decided my best alternative was to sew myself a sweater jacket for winter. A few months ago, I found an easy pattern and some cranberry-red alpaca knit fabric on sale online. Next step was to get the fabric dry-cleaned, to preshrink it (this prompted the dry cleaner to request my signed understanding that the fabric might ravel in the process—which didn’t happen).

But then the fabric, now ensconced in a plastic dry cleaner bag, lay folded in my office. For weeks. The problem was two-fold: I didn’t have time/couldn’t make time to work on the project due to holidays et al., and, more importantly, I have been wrestling with some very sensitive ulcers on both thumbs and my right ring finger. No way to cut out the pattern, figure out any adjustments, cut the fabric, and sew it up when I really couldn’t handle scissors or pins.

That is, until this past Sunday, when my hands had finally progressed enough, Thanksgiving and Hanukkah celebrations were past, and I decided to just get down to it. Cutting the fabric was still hard, despite using spring-loaded shears, but I made a lot of progress, especially because I could use my serger, which sews, trims, and finishes seams all in one step (but you really have to pay attention, because seams can’t be resewn easily!). Wool is also very forgiving, with any wobbles in the seams (due to weaker hand control) easily steamed and straightened. Still another sewing session needed to finish it, but I’m pretty pleased (ever the perfectionist) with the outcome.

And, it’s delightfully warm.

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.

Enter Autumn

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The other day, as I was walking Ginger around the block, I heard a flock of Canada Geese honking overhead. I never saw them, but I envisioned them flying in V-formation, heading south.

August is over. I’m writing on the first day of September. Even though summer doesn’t officially end until later this month, Labor Day is always my turning point from the comfort of warm, long days of sunlight into the prospect of cooler, darker, busy fall.

Black-eyed Susans 9-1-14Sugar maple leaves are the first harbinger, speckling the sides of our street for the past few weeks with splashes of gold and tangerine. As the days grow shorter, the trees begin their annual rite of passage, hardening for winter. Today seems odd—it’s muggy, hot and very sunny. But the trees know better, what’s coming.

As I write, Emily and Al are packing a friend’s truck for the drive out to her new apartment. Grad school starts this week, both for her, as a first year master’s student, and for Mindi, entering her second and final year of her professional degree program. Closer to home, public schools began last week. Time, once again, to remember to avoid leaving the house mid-afternoon when school buses from nearby schools travel their routes.

I’ve spent much of my Labor Day weekend sewing. I’m nearly done with a new dress. But, of course, it’s a summery dress, not a fall outfit. For some reason, I am never able to sew ahead of the season. I bought the pattern in July. I’ve had the fabric, a beautiful fuchsia knit, for at least five years, purchased another summer with a different dress in mind.

Two weekends ago, I finally altered the pattern and cut out the pieces. I started sewing in the evenings, until our house was full with family, and I had to clear off the dining room table. So I dug in again yesterday, because I finally had time, and because I didn’t want the dress to wait another full year. I may still get some use out of it before the weather consistently cools off.

I am a slow sewer. I have to pace myself because of my hands, and I can’t manage the fabric as well as I once could, which is why I don’t sew often. Picking out seams when I mess up, which is more often than I’d like, is tricky and tedious. I’m more willing to live with mistakes that no one else will notice, given my limitations. The end result is still good enough, albeit not the perfection I’d prefer.

I would like to sew more. My favorite sewing magazine is full of luscious fall fabrics in autumnal hues. The dress pattern I’m using comes from a designer who creates lovely, easy-to-construct clothes. I hate shopping for ready-to-wear, and sewing is the perfect antidote—not only a way to create unique clothes that actually fit, but also a great meditation. Nonetheless, I have to respect my hands. And my energy. And the number of hours in the day.

Ahead lies a solid lineup of work and creative projects to take me well into the fall. Much as I love the summer months, it’s easier to concentrate as the weather cools and everyone else is back to work or school. The trees may shed their leaves and the geese fly south, the weather will inevitably make me long for warmer days and fewer layers, but I’m looking forward to the crisp crackle of new beginnings.

I just need to sew up that wonderful warm fabric I wove last winter into a jacket, before the days grow long again.

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 Construction

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For more than a year, I’ve been working on perfecting a pants pattern. The goal is to create a properly fitted master pattern that I can sew in different fabric any time I need a new pair of pants—no more trying them on in stores, which I hate doing because it’s so difficult to find a pair that fits properly, is made of good quality fabric and is affordable.

I do some fitting and sewing, then I stop for months, then I pick up the project again and work on it some more, then put it aside once again. I made one pair of pants from the pattern that didn’t fit quite right, went to a master seamstress for help refitting the pattern, got some more fabric to try it again, cut out all the pieces, then sat on the project for another stretch.

Here’s the reason I keep stopping and starting and dragging this out: My hands can’t sew the way I used to, and I’m afraid of messing up, so I avoid it.

I discovered sewing when I was about five years old. Someone, perhaps my mother, gave my sister and me matching sewing boxes; hers was white with purple trim and mine, white with blue. Each held a packet of needles, spools of different colored thread, a red tomato-shaped pin cushion, some pins and a pair of scissors.

I was in heaven. I began hand-sewing clothes for my Girl Scout Brownie doll, whose name was Shirley, out of old fabric scraps. Her fanciest outfit was an orange corduroy coat with uneven sleeves and a white button. Shirley didn’t seem to mind the amateur workmanship, though I was frustrated that the coat didn’t come out as I’d planned. But I kept on sewing.

As a teen, I learned to sew my own clothes by machine with guidance from a friend’s mother. My first effort was a robin’s-egg-blue jumper with a scoop neck and white braid trim. It had a 22-inch zipper in the back, which I tried to insert unsuccessfully seven times, after which my friend’s mother did it for me. This outfit I wore with a yellow print store-bought blouse at my junior high Girl Scout troop’s fashion show. A few years later, I sewed my senior prom dress out of a black rayon print and inserted a hand-picked zipper.

With practice, a lot of mistakes and some successes, I got better at sewing technique. When Al and I married, I wore a white satin and lace gown that I made myself. I hand-stitched nine yards of lace trim onto white tulle for the veil. When I finished, my fingers were very swollen. A few weeks later, I learned I might have scleroderma.

Though my hands continued to deteriorate, I was determined to keep sewing and made many outfits for my two daughters when they were young. But I have not sewn for myself nearly as much as I would have liked in the years since.

For one thing, I have a lot of fingertip ulcers swathed in cloth bandages, which makes it hard to feel the fabric and manipulate it. Even with a threading tool, I have trouble inserting thread into a needle. Pinning fabric and sewing by hand are very challenging. My hands get tired. I bang my knuckles on the edges of my machine when I’m not paying attention.

But I’m not willing to give up. I have a collection of adaptive tools—an ergonomic rotary cutter to relieve pressure on my wrists, bent-nose tweezers for gripping and pulling, a Y-shaped gadget that I can use instead of my fingers to maneuver fabric through my sewing machine, a 25-year-old Viking Husqvarna that has never failed me. I love paging through sewing magazines and handling fabric. I still design outfits in my head, a favorite pass-time since childhood.

So this Sunday, I pulled out the languishing pants pattern, already cut out of khaki cotton gabardine, sat myself down at the dining room table and began marking the pieces with white chalk to prepare them for construction. The first step involved sewing a fly-front zipper. It was really hard, requiring hand basting through some thick layers.

But I did it. Slowly. When I messed up, I removed the stitches with a seam ripper and did it over. And to my great surprise and pleasure, it came out as close to perfect as I could ever expect, even limited by a pair of hands that don’t always cooperate with my head.

I’ll keep plugging along. Who knows? Maybe this pair will actually fit right. And if not, I’ll just make more adjustments and try again, even if it takes me another year to finish.

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.