Life Tethered to a Concentrator — Caroline Gainer

I’ve spent a long time believing I wrote this column for other people — for anyone trying to build a decent life with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), who wakes up each morning negotiating with their own lungs. While that’s still part of it, lately, I’ve realized something I…

Last fall, I had shingles, diverticulitis, and an upper respiratory infection, all within four weeks. I call that period a trifecta of illness. In the months after the trifecta swept through me, even my chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) breathlessness felt heavier, as if it had inherited its own…

Getting better with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) isn’t a passive hope. It’s a practice of daily choosing, and sometimes it feels like the choosing is the hardest part. No one hands you a syllabus when you’re diagnosed. There’s no neat checklist taped to the refrigerator that says,…

Growing up in West Virginia, free natural gas was one of those peculiar perks of living along the oil and gas rights-of-way. Landowners granted access in exchange for this benefit, and it kept our homes warm — but not without complications. On the coldest nights, the gas would sputter out,…

When the word pleurodesis first entered my life, it was not abstract, but was tethered to the reality of three pneumothoraces since 2010. Each lung collapse was a reminder of how suddenly breath could be stolen, how fragile the lung’s tether to the chest wall could be. Doctors explained the…

My husband and I once took two foster kids for a horseback ride at a friend’s stable, hoping to give them a memory that would settle into their bones and stay there. When we arrived, all but three of the steady, predictable horses were already spoken for. The only one…

The other day, while preparing one of my favorite meals, I reached for the pan where I’d just fried pork chops. Instead of rinsing it, I poured water straight into the sizzling skillet, watching the browned bits loosen and swirl like sediment in a creek bed. When I poured this…

Herbie was a kangaroo mouse with a taste for luxury. Not the kind you’d find in catalogs or corner offices, but the kind that came from Snowball’s belly — soft tufts of fur pulled gently through the bars of his cage to line his nest. Snowball, a long-haired white cat…

They say aging well after 70 can be measured in small victories, such as standing from a low chair without using your hands, remembering appointments without a calendar, or lifting a laundry basket without strain. I smiled as I recently read an article about 10 such signs, because I’m…

After a challenging period of illness that included shingles, diverticulitis, and a respiratory infection, I found myself profoundly weakened. My muscles had softened, my breath felt shallow, and even the smallest tasks left me winded. I knew I needed to start moving again, but I also recognized that I couldn’t…

The pumpkin pie and ice cream saved my life. Not in the dramatic, rush to the ER kind of way. Just in the quiet, revelatory way that only comfort food can. It was the first significant amount of non-protein food I’d eaten in weeks, and my body responded like it…