It would be so easy. No air hose to get caught on the corner of the hutch, no having my head yanked back, my ‘face noose’ tightened around my ears and nose when I come around the corner and in sight of my goal, whether or not I am carrying something that is heavy . So maddening it is to know that I have ample length of air hose but I still cannot get where I need to go, all because of a rug’s corner, a wheel, a dresser knob that seems to jump down and grab the line every single time I walk by. Sometimes it's my own darned leg! How does this happen?
This air line can wrap itself around my leg before I even enter a room! And if I have my shoes on it always seems to lay itself down just before my foot steps in acting like a bear trap, set and awaiting my ankle’s arrival so that it can jump up and snap shut on my leg affixing it within its grasp.
Earlier, I was in a great mood, happily discussing whatever subject came up, and as the day has continued onward my elevated mood has swooped down lower and lower, far enough down that when I was in my laundry room transferring my wet laundry from the washer to the dryer, with my air hose and cannula hooked onto the dryer door, because after I walked all the way in (I even checked my length before I left the adjoining room) my air line got caught anyway and ended up stopping me dead in my tracks just 2 feet shy of the washing machine, causing me to doubt the actual length of my line even though I have been able to walk that far many times in the past.
I transferred my laundry in the actual room air, slowly but surely squeezing any remaining oxygen left in my lungs out of them, and leaving me gasping for breath. I tried to grab the remaining laundry before I had to madly grasp the cannula as I bent down, fumbling to fit little clear rubber ends into my nose in my ridiculous panic to get oxygen. It can be so maddening at times, because I was sure I had had the length available. After I finished stumbling over the plastic laundry basket that stood between the dryer, it’s door that held my cannula draped over the corner, and my feet as I was bent over to reach it, I vowed to backtrack the air line as soon as I had my breath back.
I did, and I found that a small loop in the air line had caught on the bottom of a door causing the air line to withhold about 10 feet of vital oxygen line that would have allowed me to reach my goal and not have to go through the painful agony of going breathless once again.
After experiencing the battle with my face noose and my oxygen deprivation, I had my fourth experience (in a row) with the cat who was meowing to get me to let her out the door, only to balk at the last minute while I stood there watching her with the slider door held open with my hand, I swooped down and picked her unsuspecting body up in my arms and swooshed her out the door. In about 3 minutes, she’ll be begging to be let in again, I’ll bet.
The clock ticks on.
