My Life Depends on Oxygen
Oxygen: it’s critical for life. More important than eating or drinking, being able to breathe is critical in keeping us alive. I’m dependent on oxygen. Without it, I will die (if you’re not a plant, you’re dependent as well).
As I mentioned in my last blog post, I came home from the hospital after surgery with an oxygen concentrator and oxygen tanks for traveling. I was required to wear an oxygen tube under my nose 24/7 until I visited with the doctor two weeks later. This tube was crucial to my healing and my staying alive.
I was initially okay with having an oxygen tube. I knew it was helping me stay alive and helping me heal. But the tubing would get caught in doors. The plastic clip would hold on the door, and my head would be jerked back. I worried about getting up in the night to use the bathroom and having the oxygen tube get stuck somewhere in the dark or having me trip over it.
I started to feel uncomfortable with the oxygen tube. I was in pain, I was weak, and I was tired. The oxygen tube just added to my pile of “issues”. I realized I had a bias around the oxygen tube. I associated it with old, sickly people. Was I one of them? The combination of these medical side effects had me spiraling into depression. The week before surgery, I was at the climbing gym and going to yoga classes. Who was I now, unable to walk farther than the mailbox and needing oxygen in tow?
As the two weeks dragged on, I felt I was only making a tiny bit of progress. Every day I received multiple texts of, “how are you feeling?” from concerned friends and family. I had a story in my head that the question was performative; they were looking for progress. I wasn’t feeling like I was progressing at all. Even when I was able to cut my oxygen level from two liters to one liter, I was still tethered. I still couldn’t breathe on my own.
Two days before my doctor’s appointment, I headed to the supermarket alone for the first time since surgery. I put my oxygen tank in the passenger seat behind me and headed out for the less-than-a-mile drive to the store. Once I arrived at the store, I decided to go in without the oxygen tank; I only needed one thing. I managed to navigate the store just fine, and I picked up two other items. Then it was back on the oxygen tank as I headed home. There was a glimmer of hope.
The day came to head to the doctor’s office and get an update on my progress. I was anxious that maybe my oxygen levels wouldn’t be good enough, and I would remain on the oxygen tether. My nose was getting really dried out from the dry air blowing in my nostrils. I was tired of bloody tissues when I blew my nose. That One Guy (TOG) and I headed off to the doctor to learn what would come next.
The doctor greeted us and gave me a detailed list of the lymph nodes he removed. He repeated his relief about no cancer in the nodes or the rest of my lung lobe. Then he turned off my oxygen tank. I sat in the doctor’s office with the tank off as we spoke. I really didn’t feel any different. I no longer sounded like Darth Vader when I spoke. After 20 minutes or so of discussion, he put an oximeter on my finger. My oxygen saturation level was 96. “Great!” he said, “You don’t need to use oxygen any longer. Be careful when walking distances.” And that was it. I was done.
For my first walk, we went to Costco, located right next to the doctor’s office. I chose to push a cart, sort of a crutch as I went up and down the long aisles. I didn’t feel any shortness of breath or discomfort. TOG and I celebrated with the $1.50 hot dog special.
When I got home, it was time to turn off the concentrator. The concentrator had been on 24/7 since it was delivered to my house when I arrived home after surgery. I clicked the “off” button. I was done. No more listening to the whirring and squeaking sounds of the concentrator. It was a dull background noise that I didn’t want or need.
I love the sound of silence. I rarely play music in my home. Since I live alone, there is a lot of silence that surrounds me. It’s a sanctuary for me. I’m not sure why. I think it may be a peace I didn’t have as often when I was married. It’s just a giant pause.
More significantly, I was free from the tether of the oxygen tube. No longer was I tripping over the plastic tube or getting it stuck in doorways. I didn’t have to shower with it. When I was done with my shower, I could put on lotion or sunscreen without the worry of becoming flammable. I could start lighting candles and incense again. When I went out, I didn’t have to switch from concentrator to oxygen tank and pull the oxygen tank with me like a reluctant puppy.
Over the next couple of days, I noticed my depression and anxiousness lifting. I wasn’t necessarily moving faster; in fact without oxygen, I was probably going to move slower for a bit before moving faster. But there was real hope now. Hope because I had shown a marked improvement. I no longer needed to supplement my oxygen.
When the oxygen supply company came and took all the oxygen tanks and the concentrator away, I was thrilled. I was a “regular” person again. I also missed the compassion I saw in the eyes of people when I walked around with oxygen. Now, no one can tell I’m tender and sore on the inside, so I just look like I’m a fine person who walks really slow.
This oxygen experience turned out to be more than just a way to heal me and keep me alive. It raised my awareness about my bias around oxygen use. It helped me to see how uncomfortable I am being tethered. And it healed me enough to show me what progress looks like, no matter how small.
