One of the hardest parts of life since I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer two-and-a-quarter years ago and now, COPD, is just how long it takes to do ordinary things that were so easy as to go almost unnoticed during the decades of my pre-cancer life.
Add to that the new medical chores – buying, counting out, tracking prescription drugs and refills; doctor appointments and travel time; forms to fill out prior to every appointment; tests; and so on.
Now I have a new responsibility: I've been prescribed oxygen and last week the technician came to drop off the paraphernalia and teach me how to use it.
If, like me, you have been extraordinarily healthy throughout your life, even being tethered to an oxygen concentrator feels like a burden – except that I need it. I'm still training myself to always watch so I don't trip over the tubing in the two places where I can't hide it out of the way.
It is not clear to me yet how useful the small, portable tanks are. They weigh so much that I can't imagine walking more than a few feet with one hanging from my shoulder but I suppose I'll need to figure that out, (she sighed).
As I explained in Part 1 of this two-part series, everything is hard for the first two hours of my day while I wait for body and joint pains to dissipate. I usually can manage making breakfast and, most of the time, washing up the dishes afterwards although the latter depends on how much my hands and arms hurt.
Also, I can get a lot of news reading, email and research/writing work done for the blog as long as I remember to stand up and walk around for a couple of minutes now and then to keep my knees from getting stiff.
I've switched my main meal of the day to lunch when I still have the energy to prepare something more elaborate than I do in the evening. Sometimes in midday, I cook a couple of meals ahead for future dinners.
Timing is more important in my life now. I choose the time when my breathing seems best to take out trash or pick up the mail. This is mostly during the late morning or early afternoon. Maybe when I figure out the mobile oxygen tanks I'll be more flexible. But I will be hiring a cleaning service within the next week or so – the vacuum cleaner is just one new difficulty for me nowadays.
I also need to get grocery shopping done in the same period of time. I had no idea before now that pushing a supermarket basket – even the small size – could leave anyone short of breath.
For most of my adult life, certainly many years before cancer and COPD, I ran out of mental steam by mid-afternoon. In fact, in a planning meeting back then, my boss once said to my colleagues, “If you need Ronni's help on any of this be sure to ask her before 2:30PM or 3PM; she's useless after then.”
She wasn't wrong and now it's physical fatigue too. I'm pretty much done for the day by 3PM, and after three or four more hours of low-impact, low intellectual puttering and then dinner, I'm in bed with a book or a movie. Even when I sometimes take a nap for an hour, my day is over by 7PM and an hour earlier is not unheard of.
If you've been counting on your fingers while reading the above, you've probably figured out that after accounting for pain, medical chores and the normal, daily tasks of life, I don't have a lot of free time left over.
Nobody tells you that if you get a serious disease in old age, you will be busier than you've ever been – or, at least, it will feel that way because you are so much slower.
Until about a year ago, a friend sometimes asked me to slow down when we were going somewhere together – I hadn't shed my New York City speed-walk. Nowadays I need to ask her to slow down, and I have even greater sympathy for the old woman in this video than when I first encountered her on the web about 10 years ago.