So It's Come To This: Talking To A Tree

Tannenbaum Version 2011

There. Now that all your decorations are in place, I guess you don't look so bad.

You said I was the worst tree you've ever had!

Oh...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that -- especially not where you could hear me. I'm having kind of a rough go of it this year, what with all the fussing and fretting over oxygen and all...I guess I was just venting at My Awesome Husband Greg. But that's not really fair, either, since I removed myself from the whole tree-selection process years ago. He's pretty much done it all on his own, ever since the kids have grown. And most years, he's outdone himself -- again and again and again. It's just that this year...

...Go on. This year...

Well, so he saved a little money this year. It just looks like you were probably on the lot a bit longer than the ones he usually buys. But you really aren't the worst. I can think of at least two that were far shabbier than you!

Only two? Gee, thanks!

C'mon. I said I was sorry. You know, Christmas is starting to seem a little more like work every year...getting all those decorations down from the attic -- or, this year, from almost in the attic. I'm really going to have to finish putting that stuff away this January! It seems like there's always something I can't find. And I can never remember how I had things from one year to the next...I'm constantly moving and rearranging things. You know, I seriously considered not even getting a Christmas tree this year!

Really? What changed your mind?

Well, a couple of things, I guess. The main reason for not wanting one (at least the reason I was willing to admit) is that new kitten, Ella -- She's incorrigible! I just knew she'd be climbing you and messing with your ornaments every chance she got. I only relented when Greg promised we could shut her in the basement whenever we're not home. And true to form, that's exactly what she did -- climbed your trunk that first day...

That was a kitten? I thought it was squirrels, or chipmunks, or something!

Nope, that was Ella. She waited until Greg had put all your lights on, then climbed up the middle and walked down through your branches, tangling everything in her wake. But are we shutting her in the basement? No way -- She's "just a kitten," according to Greg. Hah! She's a weapon of mass destruction if I've ever seen one! But honestly, she doesn't seem to mess with you much when we're not home -- just when I'm there to freak out, and then Greg says I'm being a bitch!

No way! How could he say that about you!

Ah, sarcasm...I like that in a Christmas tree!

Anyway, another reason I kind of didn't want to do a tree this year was that I was thinking of all the work I'd save myself, not having to decorate and undecorate. I know -- I couldn't even believe I was thinking that way myself -- I love Christmas so much! It kind or reminded me of how Mom was her last Christmas. She had always put so much into making sure everything looked perfect for her favorite holiday, but that year, she was just too tired to fuss. That's when we knew she wouldn't be with us much longer. I really don't want to be in that place yet, and I don't want my family to worry about me. So Tannenbaum, here you are!

Well, I guess I should consider myself lucky, huh?

Yeah. And I guess I should, too. You know, you really are a very nice tree. Remember when I said you didn't look so bad with all your decorations on? Well, you look more than "not bad." You're actually quite beautiful, now that I'm really looking at you. I'm glad you're the tree that Greg picked. I mean, who am I to criticize droopy branches and thinning needles...I should look half as elegant as you!

I really think I'm going to enjoy having you around for a couple more weeks. And then, just like every other year, I'm going to miss you like crazy when it's time for you to go. I sure hope we get another chance to talk...

My Oxygen Deficit Disorder

I've been experiencing some breathing difficulties; ergo, air-to-go!

I guess this is kind of serious...

But I just can't seem to take it seriously.

(See what I mean?)


I've been wanting to write this post for a couple of weeks now, but have put it off, hoping to have more answers than questions before I attempted to explain it all. Now I have some answers, but even more questions. So I'm just going to go ahead and blog, before I forget that there was a time when I didn't need a special means of carrying my oxygen with me -- a time when it was all for free...

That was a time when I could run; when, even though I didn't always feel like it, if I could just do it -- hey, what a great slogan for a running shoe company -- before long, endorphins would kick in and I'd feel like I was in harmony with the universe. (Gosh, I miss endorphins!)

That was a time when I played tennis, and although I missed more shots than I made, I was exhilarated at being able to run madly around the court and then recover in time to be able to [try to] serve.

That was a time when our social life -- mine and My Awesome Husband Greg's -- pretty much revolved around playing tennis and tennis socials.

Today I went for a walk with a four-pound can of oxygen slung over my shoulder in its little padded carrying case. I was able to breathe easily, even though I was crying a little bit. I've finished crying now, because I realize that this is a small thing, compared to the burdens that so many others are bearing. But I needed to mourn for what I've lost.

I also feel a little bit like crying when I think about how difficult it's been, now that I know I need a portable oxygen system, to actually get one that works for me.

This is where I'm tempted to go into my tirade about how frustrating it's been to:

(1) Find someone who can tell me exactly what I need;

(2) Find out all the options that are available, and and what the differences are -- including cost -- between them;

(3) Have something delivered and set up that (a) comes with some operating instructions and (b) doesn't reek of cigarette smoke. Also, (c) it might be nice to have someone like, say, a respiratory therapist, come and explain how the system works.

And when I say tirade, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Whenever I find myself trying to actually explain how exasperating all of this has been, I realize that I look and sound like I'm doing a Lewis Black monologue.

So I'm going to spare you all of that. Suffice it to say, I still do not feel that I have the correct system for me. I'm expecting a phone call tomorrow that may put me on the right track. I hope so. My confidence in pulmonologists and home medical suppliers has been badly shaken. I feel like I'm the one who's in charge. That's probably as it should be, but it's a new feeling for me, and it puts me way outside of my comfort zone.

I long for the days when I believed that doctors were preordained by God, and that they were just a little bit supra-human; that they had time to read all the pages of the test results they ordered, that they could make definitive diagnoses, and that they knew the all the answers to my questions about the medicines they prescribed.

I long for a lot of things to be the way they used to be. But I realize that change is inevitable, and if we are wise, we roll with the punches and learn to look at things in a new way. I think I'm there, or will be soon...