noon PST santa monica california

As you may have gleaned from my posts last week, our five days and six nights in Pittsburgh were like time in a bottle, or perhaps more accurately, time in a giant laboratory test tube, a multilevel glass cocoon of hospital corridors, medical machines, waiting rooms, beeps and pings, doctors in white coats, surgeons in green, the pulmonary department in charcoal gray, and the ubiquitous tall green oxygen tanks which, in retrospect, deserve special mention. On the very first day of Colleen's week-long evaluation, during the 3-hour Lung Transplant Orientation, I realized that we had landed in a place that had an utterly unique relationship to oxygen. Upon arriving at Presby that morning, Col had switched out her own portable oxygen tank for the larger, more powerful hospital tank. For the orientation, she and I were among the first to take seats around the large U-shaped conference table, which soon filled up with other lung transplant explorers and their caregivers. Green oxygen tanks and nose canulas dotted the room, of course; no surprise there. At the midway break, however, what did catch my attention was that, after the coordinator gave directions to the restrooms, she inquired,"Does anyone need their tank topped off?"

Hearing this and watching hands go up in response felt a bit like Colleen and I had landed at an outpost of Mars. This was the first taste, at least for me, of having entered into the nonordinary reality, the inner sanctum, of a prestigious hospital that houses a world-renowned, cutting edge, and uniquely courageous Lung Transplant Center. For a newbie lung transplant caregiver like me how could an environment replete with oxygen filling stations be anything but otherworldly? 

Whether we were in Presby, Falk, or Montefiore Hospital, supplemental oxygen was within easy reach. To me, this reflected an institution-wide commitment to going to any lengths to make its lung-challenged patients and visitors comfortable and to alleviating the particular anxiety felt by those whose breathing is compromised. Throughout the week, whenever Colleen would arrive at an appointment, invariably she would be asked if she needed more oxygen, or even a newly filled tank. The person escorting Col to a test or a doctor would automatically sling Colleen's portable tank upon their own shoulder and carry it for her, as natural as a hotel doorman helping a guest with her bags.

By the way, oxygen-consciousness wasn't restricted to medical personnel. The shuttle driver, whose route was between Family House and the hospital, betrayed not a scintilla of impatience as Colleen moved one slow footfall at a time toward the van and then mindfully climbed the final two steps in order to board. On the one day we valet-parked at Presby, even the morning parking attendant made sure Col's green oxygen tank was set up for the day; at day's end, the late afternoon attendant made equally sure that she was oxygen-good before leaving.

For me, Pittsburgh's use of oxygen for fuel is rich with metaphorical implication. Breath. Spiritus. Spirit.