Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

Surf’s Up

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I love the ocean. I wish we lived close enough to walk the beach every day. I find the rhythm of the waves mesmerizing, and the moist sea air really helps my dry eyes, nose, and mouth due to Sjogrens.

Recently, I discovered a meditation technique called Ocean Breath, or Ujjayi Pranayama. It basically involves slightly constricting the back of your throat as you breathe in and out, mimicking the sound of waves rushing in to shore and receding. Here’s a link that describes the practice.

As always, there’s a caveat. If you have heart or lung issues, check with your doctor, first.

I’ve been using a guided meditation on the HeadSpace app, which I find extremely helpful, that varies a bit from the above instructions. It takes practice, but it’s quite soothing. You can do it any time of day or night. Great for easing into sleep, waking up in the middle of the night and finding your way back to sleep, or just whenever you need to take a stress-reduction break.

Breathe well.

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: KOBU Agency

The Best Medicine

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On Sunday, I got totally out of my comfort zone. I’ve been taking acting classes for several years, now, and over the past sic months, have also joined with some acting friends in an informal group working on scenes. This evolved into reading a play by Selina Fillinger, POTUS: Or, Behind Every Great Dumbass Are Seven Women Trying to Keep Him Alive.

And reading this very funny, raunchy play together led to a decision to do a staged reading of said play, directed by our wonderful teacher, on Sunday in a theater space. I played Stephanie, the President’s personal secretary, who is the comic foil, a role that included running around in a pink rubber ducky inner tube and rapping the introduction to the Declaration of Independence. Yes, you read that correctly.

I have never done anything like this before, and it was a hoot. I got a lot of laughs and had a blast. My acting friends were all terrific, our director was a dream, the audience totally enjoyed it, and we just had fun. Al smiled through the whole play.

There is a lot of stress in this world. There is nothing like joining with great, talented friends to put on a show and making others laugh for a few hours. The best medicine, indeed.

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: Caleb Woods

Back on the Block

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It was perfect weather for the beach on Sunday, sunny, in the 80s F, and given that we hadn’t made it to the Atlantic this season, we grabbed the chance for a day trip to Block Island. An hour’s ferry ride from the Rhode Island coast, it was our favorite vacation spot for years with our daughters, until everyone else discovered it, too, and the rents became ridiculous.

So Al and I try each year to get there on a Sunday. As luck would have it, however, given the beautiful weather, a lot of other folks had the same idea. Even as we left with plenty of time to catch the 11:30 ferry, we hit beach traffic that kept adding minutes to our arrival time. I took a GPS-recommended detour, only to have traffic get worse. Needless to say, it was not a relaxing arrival. When we finally got to Point Judith, there was no parking available, so we took a chance of parking in a four-hour spot and risking a ticket.

As it turned out, I had managed to read the ferry schedule backwards—the 11:30 ferry was the return ferry from Block Island—and the ferry to Block Island was actually departing at Noon. We got to the top deck of the very crowded boat with about 10 minutes to spare.

The island was hot and crowded. Still, we made the best of the afternoon, grabbing a good lunch at Persephone’s and then walking to the Town Beach, where we rented chairs and an umbrella. The tide was coming in, so when we took our walk up and down the shore, waves rushed and splashed. My pants got soaked, but I didn’t care, because the sand was cool and the surf, refreshing. And given the heat, my pants dried out quickly. We had our favorite dinner at the Beachcomber, Al got his ice cream at the Ice Cream Place, and we made the 6:15 ferry back, once again with about 10 minutes to spare. When we got to our car, well past a row of similarly parked cars with orange tickets on their windshields, ours had not been tagged. Hurray!

But the highlight of the trip came, surprisingly, on the ferry ride back. We were sitting on the top deck, once again, because there was no room on the other two decks. All of a sudden, people on one side started pointing and raising their phones to take pictures, standing on the benches to get a better view. I was able to get a glimpse of the phenomenon—a pod of dolphins, maybe a dozen or more, leaping through the water, heading toward the island. Everyone was thrilled, like a bunch of little kids. It was great. In that one moment, we were all in awe of Nature’s wonders. Everyone was smiling.

I’ve never seen wild dolphins before. Glorious. May your week be full of magnificent surprises.

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.

Down the Hatch

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Over the past few months I have endured a series of diagnostic tests to figure out the cause of my chronic diarrhea. The basic hypothesis is that my scleroderma has caused waste to move more slowly through my gut, leading to bacterial overgrowth. But my GI specialist, Dr. H, has been thorough, trying to rule out other issues, as well.

So, first I had a celiac test. Negative. Then I did a barium swallow, which confirmed that I have strictures in my esophagus (no surprise—I’ve felt food get stuck there for years), but everything else was working just fine, thank you. Then I did a diagnostic which involved swallowing a lot of sugar water and testing my breath periodically over three hours to check for signs of bacterial overgrowth. That one came back negative, though Dr. H suspects it’s still an issue.

Monday was the last test in the series, an upper endoscopy. I haven’t done this in years. We left early for Boston in rainy weather, but still made it 45 minutes ahead of time. Fortunately, that meant they took me in early, as well. Given that I usually time my visits to the nanosecond, this was evidence for rethinking my habits a bit.

This unit at Boston Medical is dedicated to outpatient endoscopy procedures, and I was in Bed 30. While prep felt a bit like being on an assembly line, the nurses were cordial and very efficient as they checked my vitals and inserted an IV line. Even as the repetitive questions seemed endless (how many times do I have to confirm that I am indeed the person named on my wristband?), there was a benefit. Somehow, between check-in and prep, Al’s phone number was recorded incorrectly. Since he was driving me home, that needed to be fixed. Glad we caught the error.

After I met the anesthesiologist and signed a consent, I only had time to do the Monday New York Times Crossword, Connections and Strands puzzles on my phone (my morning breakfast ritual) and they were ready to wheel me into the exam room, a half-hour ahead of schedule.

Dr. H did the procedure, which I appreciated. The last thing I recall after they hooked me up to the IV and various sensors, was telling them, when they put the oxygen cannula in my nose, that I get bloody noses easily. Then I woke up. My throat was sore. Dr. H had gone the extra mile, as he told me he might, and stretched the strictures in my esophagus. This he did by inserting a long, thin balloon, which he inflated and then removed. Hopefully this will ease swallowing. For the most part, everything else looked normal.

After some ginger ale and graham crackers, I was steady enough on my feet to get dressed and walk with the nurse to find Al in the waiting room. It was still pouring on our drive home, but we got back around Noon. Some food and a nap helped, but as I write late Monday afternoon, I’m still groggy. The swelling in my throat is easing slowly.

So, even if we still don’t have solid answers to the diarrhea question, at least it may be easier to eat. Worth the hassle. Glad it’s over.

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: Ahkmet Yüksek

Dappled

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There’s a word in Japanese for the light that filters through trees:

Transliterated as komorebi (kō-mō-reh-bee), it is made up of the Japanese characters for tree, leaking, and sun—meaning, literally, the sunlight that leaks through trees. Komorebi refers to the ever-shifting way that sunlight filters through tree branches and boughs, creating dancing patterns on the ground and illuminating the backside of leaves. It’s one of my favorite things to discover when I walk outdoors. And I love the fact that there’s a Japanese word to capture that sensation.

So, when Al and I took advantage of perfect summer weather on Sunday, we went to Garden in the Woods, a 45-acre refuge for native plants in Framingham, Mass., and I tried to capture komorebi with my iPhone’s camera, as well as some delicate plants—and, of course, some turtles. It made for a lovely, peaceful afternoon. Here’s what I found. Enjoy.

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.