Learning to Live as a Lunger

The Original Lunger

The term lunger was a spiteful term addressed to Doc Holiday (played by Val Kilmer), who suffered from tuberculosis, by his enemies in the movie Tombstone. Although I don’t have TB, I figure my breathing makes me a lunger.

Monday was a day of sleep—a kind of imposed Sabbath resulting from a sense of exhaustion that overcame me. Sunday was a day of sleep, too, but I didn’t feel exhausted. I attempted to watch the two National Football League play off games; however, I nodded off during both of them—a couple of times I nodded off during each of the games.

Monday’s sleep was different from Sunday’s. First, the sleep seemed beyond my control. It wasn’t a comfortable sleep; rather, I slept because I lacked the energy to do anything else. Second, Alex seemed to share my exhaustion. Each time I awakened, the furball was asleep in my bed—on top of the comforter (and my body); snuggled beside my chest with my hand curled around him; or Alex in a ball, beneath the comforter and nestled by my legs. Perhaps we are both developing narcolepsy?

I expected the oxygen to provide me with more energy. Thus far it has not. What has happened is that I have developed a constant need for it. Before I was provided with it, there were times each day when I would panic because I could not breathe. It was terrifying. Now, during those moments when I switch from the oxygen concentrator to bottle oxygen (the logistics of fifty feet of hose need me to sometimes use the bottled oxygen) I literally cannot get my breath and I feel as if I am going to pass out. Furthermore, my nose has been stopped up quite a bit, which is problematic since I must breathe the oxygen through my nose. My nose has also been bleeding frequently, which I understand is a possible side effect of oxygen therapy.

Still, I am thankful for the VA supplied oxygen. I had not realized how poor my ability to take in air had become.

Above is a photo (taken by Tasha) of the well appointed lunger. Notice my open mouth. Not good. The portable oxygen tank has a regulator on it to conserve the oxygen so that I only receive it when I breathe in through my nose. Breathing through my mouth—something that through the years became my norm because of my clogged nose from allergies—is a difficult habit to break.

The photo above is my new oxygen concentrator. I still have the one I’ve owned for about twenty years. It is attached to my CPAP in my bedroom. This new one is located in my spare bedroom, because that room is in about the center of the house. This allows me to walk almost anywhere with the fifty-foot hose ruining from the machine to my nose.

Above is my month’s supply of oxygen tanks. The small ones I can use when I must leave the house. Each one is good for an hour or two of breathing. The larger ones I use to move around my house to places where the hose doesn’t reach. I will also put one in my car that I can use when driving, so as not to use up the oxygen in a small bottle when I travel.

The humongous oxygen tank above is about five feet high. It is an emergency back up—just in case.

Well, that sums up my new life as one dependent upon oxygen. I still have a lot to learn. So does Alex, such as not chasing, clawing at, and otherwise harassing my nose-hose.

We All Need It!