They delivered the new oxygen today. As well as the small cylinders you have got used to, they delivered a concentrator, a large box that takes oxygen from the air. You didn’t want it, but it was necessary as you have required more and more oxygen to do the simple things you used not to think about. You hated it, you said you felt like you were a dog on a lead being attached to the box wherever you went. I tried to make light of it, look for the silver lining we usually find at difficult times, but it wasn’t easy today. I said it only meant getting used to something different, that it would make life easier when you didn’t have to wait around for your oxygen to be delivered. I reminded you of how you would start to get a little stressed and anxious if you ran low and this wouldn’t be a problem anymore now that the oxygen was on tap.
I felt helpless when I saw you were tearful. It’s so easy for me, who can run around town in no time at all to tell you everything will be alright. We know it won’t, you will need oxygen now for the rest of your life.
It’s spooky in a way that you had claustrophobia all your life, that the thought of not being able to breathe was your worst nightmare. You have lived an exceptionally healthy life and end up with an incurable and hateful lung disease. It’s like from childhood you subconsciously knew what was to come. When I think of your illness I often think of the stories of you as a child, licking salt from the factory walls or wearing the old gas masks you told me about.
I took you for a drive today, I thought the sun being out would cheer you up and it did. We drove down the coast a little to a town with some tearooms. Finding a disability parking space wasn’t a problem now we have the badges. I set up your cylinder on the trolley and off we went to attempt a walk. We stopped for coffee and cake, it was lovely although a little on the generous side. Walking back towards the car, you were very slow, you stopped, you had nothing left in you and had to sit on a bench for a while in the graveyard. In setting up the oxygen, I had forgotten to turn the bloody thing on. I felt awful, putting that stress on your poor body, another reminder of how healthy I am in comparison.
On the journey home, you said you realised now how awful it was for dogs to be on leads. You’re nothing like a dog mum, however beautiful you think they are, there are no similarities.
You used the concentrator again tonight. I hope it gets easier to live with and you can feel a little happier in yourself. I suggested you put the tubing over your shoulder so it would trail behind you and you wouldn’t trip. There you go down the hall with the tube singing to yourself and me ‘over my shoulder goes one care, over my shoulder go two cares’ you’re amazing.
lizalizaskysaregrey 