Humble Pie and a Belly Laugh

(My dad used to say we take ourselves way too seriously and by laughing at ourselves can we change our day, but when we give others permission to laugh along too, and that’s a pretty good day! So Daddy-oh in your spirit and honor here goes……….)

I’d like to say the relationship ended yesterday just the way it started two years ago, but I know our relationship is far from over. Instead I guess I should think of yesterday as marking our second anniversary. I exceeded expectations by commemorating the event with an even more humbling (or hilarious) act than I started it two years ago.

It is my freedom and yet my nemesis; this is the love/hate relationship I have with my portable oxygen concentrator which I’ve worn daily for almost exactly two years now. It was a gift for which I’m eternally grateful, as it’s afforded me the freedom to maintain some normalcy in my days and avoid toating around an oxygen bottle. The unit comes in a compact little backpack with a compartment for extra batteries and when loaded with spares weighs about 15 pounds and can get me about 12 hours of oxygen.

I’ll start with the christening act of our relationship which coincidentally was almost exactly two years ago today. I’d had my concentrator a few days, and everything was still new and awkward — even the cannula in my nose didn’t feel right as both nostrils were sore from 24/7 wear. It was Sunday and time to go public and go to church with my concentrator. I knew this was going to be a big piece of humble pie and I was so grateful that Joe had to be out of town. For all his good intentions I knew he’d be adjusting straps and making suggestions every step of the way. This was my trail to blaze and I had to figure it out on my own so I planned my debut and grateful to do it alone.

First was masking or disguising the backpack; I must have tried on 15 scarves to see which

would hide the straps the best. Then the decision to wear it hose in or the hose out. I decided to go “hose inside” and carefully threaded the hose of the cannula up under my sweater so only a small portion showed. Perfect! I grabbed my extra batteries and headed out the door. I hadn’t considered driving with a backpack, but I was damned if I was going to unravel all I’d just created just to drive to town, so I scooted the seat back and buckled in with my backpack on.

Strategically, I arrived 15 minutes early during the Rosary (quiet prayer before Mass), The plan was to have time to get settled in the pew before Mass. I entered the church, surveyed a spot and headed for a seat along the right side aisle. It only took about five steps into the church for me to realize that the “ptssssscht chooo ptssscht choooo” sound of the concentrator had broken the silence of everyone’s prayer. I knelt in the pew head down, and knew that every head in the church had turned to see who was making the noise. My face was beginning to warm. I pressed on, and after what would seem like ample time to pray sat back in the pew. Awkward!! If I left the backpack on I’d have to sit out on the outer few inches of the pew or turn completely sideways in the pew. Well that wasn’t going to work, so I decided to gracefully slip the straps of the backpack off and set it in the pew next to me. Sounds easy enough right? What I didn’t take into account was how intricately I was tied to the pack with the multiple wraps of the long scarf, my long braid and the cannula hose up under my sweater. Well I started with the right strap and I felt a little like a Houdini wriggling and writhing out of a straight jacket, but I finally got the right arm free and then I turned sideways in the pew for more working room and started to work on freeing the left strap. Well I’m here to tell you it didn’t end well. I wriggled and writhed and just as I was about to break the left strap free when the whole backpack fell off the seat to the floor taking me with it and ending with a loud crash. Surely no one noticed, right?

I lay under the pew for a moment (or was it hours) trying to muster the courage to gather myself upright again. Well I dug deep, thought of my Dad, and red faced, fighting the urge to either cry or laugh out loud, I gathered myself up and sat upright in the pew. It was done; my debut was over. Ugly, funny, but over and behind me.

Fast forward two years with calluses in my nostrils and stealthy skills with my concentrator, still however refusing to wear my backpack waist straps. I was out yesterday with dogs. It was particularly hot so I decided to just throw tennis balls for them in the deep pools of the creek. It's a perfect activity, for a hot day as I don’t have to walk far, and the dogs cool off and get some exercise. My Border Collie Lucy notoriously drops her ball on the waters edge instead of bringing it close to me. She always has to be first in the water and she thinks she can gain ball advantage over the other dogs by getting into position earlier. I always throw a ball for each dog so it doesn’t matter, but she’s obsessed, a Border Collie go figure? Anyway, I was tired of asking her to bring it closer to me, and decided to inch down the steep grassy embankment to get the ball myself. Lucy moved into position to launch as soon as I got the ball.

Once I started my descent I realized the bank was steeper than I originally thought and the grass was slippery from the dogs coming and going out of the water. Oh well, I could surely do this I thought! I should note that my upward mobility has been limited because of some recent nerve issues/pain which was only one more layer to this puzzle. I carried on getting closer and closer as I inched toward Lucy’s ball. This was going just as I planned. The ball was about 12 inches down the embankment from my foot so I did the only sensible thing and slowly (painfully) bent forward to reach for the ball. I was defying gravity with my head lower than my feet as I stretched. The ball was literally inches from my fingers when the axis of the world shifted. The backpack slid up my back toward my shoulders (damn I should have had the waist strap buckled) and there was just enough weight shift to send me into a slow-motion full head-over-heels tumble into the deep pool below, leaving the tennis ball untouched as I catapulted over it into the water. The pool was also deeper than I’d guessed as I went all the way under except for the very top of my head before my toes touched the bottom. I clamored and clawed my way up the bank on the other side of the creek and lay there face down for a moment in the mud and grass, just checking to make sure I was okay. Then the rigorous licks from Charlotte made me realize I was fine and I start giggling and before long I was rolling in laughter and mud and just praying that no one else had witnessed this spectacle.

My cell phone had survived, and my concentrator was still running even though it had been completely submerged. I drug myself back to the house and took it apart and lay it out on the counter to dry. Next, I warmed up my rice bag, snuggled in bed with my pal Charlotte and hooked up to the big oxygen concentrator to warm up.

Long story short. My concentrator is fine as am I and I guess I’m in it for another year or two — this concentrator and me. I had to eat a piece of humble pie yesterday (though I not sure I’ll wear the waist straps yet), but I find that humble pie always goes best with a good belly laugh. Thanks Dad.