Life Tethered to a Concentrator — Caroline Gainer

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…

As is true with almost everything concerning my chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), my mental health requires some effort on my part. Just as I monitor my breath, adjust my pace, and adapt my routines, I also have to take care of my own emotional well-being. The antidepressant I…

I will soon be 82, and my weight has been an issue since being diagnosed with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD). For most of my adult life, I weighed 113 pounds and was 5 feet, 1 inch tall. My doctor’s nurse quipped that if the scale didn’t say 113,…

Some days I despair over having to rest so often during my kitchen cleanup, but then I realize that I should be grateful. Even with Graves’ disease, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), a hiatal hernia, high blood pressure, and sinus irregularities, I am still able to clean my kitchen,…