Hello, dear ones!
It's finally happened! After several weeks of confusion due to dosage changes, supplier scarcity, factory backlogs, and scheduling mix-ups, I've made the transition to liquid oxygen. On Friday afternoon, Lance, the driver for my new oxygen supplier, brought two reservoirs filled with liquid oxygen. The barrel shaped containers bear a distinct resemblance to the Daleks, a recurring cyborg nemesis in the Doctor Who saga. With sturdy metal bodies and forward-facing tubular extensions, the waist height tanks seem primed to begin screeching "Exterminate! Exterminate!" Luckily, no Doctor Who villains have materialized to date.
Darla, my temperamental portable oxygen concentrator, is primed to enter retirement after mostly faithful service. In her place is my new ice princess, an insulated portable liquid oxygen container resembling a large vented thermos. Potential names for my new companion include Jadis (the White Witch in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe), Elsa (the ice princess in Frozen), and Tilda (the actress who plays the White Witch in the Disney film). I'm also open to further name suggestions.
To fill Jadis/Elsa/Tilda, I click her onto an appendage atop one of the Daleks. Locking the unit in place activates oxygen transfer. I keep one hand on the side of the container, watching as white tendrils wisp out of the reservoir, waiting for the knocking sensation that indicates a full portable unit. The gradual conversion of oxygen from liquid to gas covers the unit in frost by the time that it empties. Because I've transitioned from a battery-powered unit to a refillable tank, my outings have likewise transitioned from morning, afternoon or evening length to a mere two hours. I made several requests of my oxygen supplier for a second or even third tank to extend my excursion time. The UPMC pulmonary rehab staff seconded my request based on a desire to maintain my activity level and for emergency backup purposes. One faxed prescription later, I'm hopeful that another portable container will result from either an exhaustive search of the supplier warehouse or factory production of the requisite unit. If hope alone is insufficient, there's always persistence.
After Lance carted off my old home concentrator, the apartment settled into near silence. The low-pitched droning hum that sometimes overwhelmed conversation was replaced by the tinkling susurrus of air bubbles humidifying my oxygen supply. My apartment now sounds like a dentist's office, with the requisite fish tank burbling in the background. Reclaiming the quiet is curiously satisfying. My thoughts seem louder now, no longer drowned out by the constant distraction of the machine's interminable thrum. Peter is equally relieved by fewer auditory distractions.
Lance returns every Tuesday and Friday to replenish my oxygen supply. Liquid oxygen dissipates at an approximate rate of one pound per twenty-four hours. With my increasing oxygen requirement, I expend the remainder relatively quickly. Still, once I have another portable unit to stretch my time away from home, I may actually increase in mobility. The new tanks administer up to fifteen liters per minute, more than twice the rate of my old concentrator. Despite persistent shortness of breath, pulmonary rehab has made me stronger, better able to perform my daily tasks. If I can muster up a bit more stamina, then watch out, Pittsburgh! I'm trotting down the river trail to Herrs Island.
Shout outs are in order: Thank you to my father- and mother-in-law, Peter and Denise, for your visit, and the bonus of my sewing machine, my desk, and a really big TV! John and Katelynn, you infuse the cliche of dinner and a show with tear-inducing laughter! Erin and Brigham midwives, you are the best! Thanks so much for including me in the baby shower!
It's finally happened! After several weeks of confusion due to dosage changes, supplier scarcity, factory backlogs, and scheduling mix-ups, I've made the transition to liquid oxygen. On Friday afternoon, Lance, the driver for my new oxygen supplier, brought two reservoirs filled with liquid oxygen. The barrel shaped containers bear a distinct resemblance to the Daleks, a recurring cyborg nemesis in the Doctor Who saga. With sturdy metal bodies and forward-facing tubular extensions, the waist height tanks seem primed to begin screeching "Exterminate! Exterminate!" Luckily, no Doctor Who villains have materialized to date.
Darla, my temperamental portable oxygen concentrator, is primed to enter retirement after mostly faithful service. In her place is my new ice princess, an insulated portable liquid oxygen container resembling a large vented thermos. Potential names for my new companion include Jadis (the White Witch in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe), Elsa (the ice princess in Frozen), and Tilda (the actress who plays the White Witch in the Disney film). I'm also open to further name suggestions.
To fill Jadis/Elsa/Tilda, I click her onto an appendage atop one of the Daleks. Locking the unit in place activates oxygen transfer. I keep one hand on the side of the container, watching as white tendrils wisp out of the reservoir, waiting for the knocking sensation that indicates a full portable unit. The gradual conversion of oxygen from liquid to gas covers the unit in frost by the time that it empties. Because I've transitioned from a battery-powered unit to a refillable tank, my outings have likewise transitioned from morning, afternoon or evening length to a mere two hours. I made several requests of my oxygen supplier for a second or even third tank to extend my excursion time. The UPMC pulmonary rehab staff seconded my request based on a desire to maintain my activity level and for emergency backup purposes. One faxed prescription later, I'm hopeful that another portable container will result from either an exhaustive search of the supplier warehouse or factory production of the requisite unit. If hope alone is insufficient, there's always persistence.
After Lance carted off my old home concentrator, the apartment settled into near silence. The low-pitched droning hum that sometimes overwhelmed conversation was replaced by the tinkling susurrus of air bubbles humidifying my oxygen supply. My apartment now sounds like a dentist's office, with the requisite fish tank burbling in the background. Reclaiming the quiet is curiously satisfying. My thoughts seem louder now, no longer drowned out by the constant distraction of the machine's interminable thrum. Peter is equally relieved by fewer auditory distractions.
Lance returns every Tuesday and Friday to replenish my oxygen supply. Liquid oxygen dissipates at an approximate rate of one pound per twenty-four hours. With my increasing oxygen requirement, I expend the remainder relatively quickly. Still, once I have another portable unit to stretch my time away from home, I may actually increase in mobility. The new tanks administer up to fifteen liters per minute, more than twice the rate of my old concentrator. Despite persistent shortness of breath, pulmonary rehab has made me stronger, better able to perform my daily tasks. If I can muster up a bit more stamina, then watch out, Pittsburgh! I'm trotting down the river trail to Herrs Island.
Shout outs are in order: Thank you to my father- and mother-in-law, Peter and Denise, for your visit, and the bonus of my sewing machine, my desk, and a really big TV! John and Katelynn, you infuse the cliche of dinner and a show with tear-inducing laughter! Erin and Brigham midwives, you are the best! Thanks so much for including me in the baby shower!
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| liquid oxygen tanks |
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| Dalek |
At first, I thought the picture of the dalek was actually your o2 machine! Miss you Edwina and glad to read your beautiful writing.
ReplyDeleteRachel, I miss you and Evan, too! And don't my machine and a Dalek look alike! It's kind of fun to have a little Dr Who in my living room.
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