What a portable concentrator can (and can't) do

I have been feeling discouraged about still needing to use supplemental oxygen, the slow rate of progress (I'm using oxygen at night and need 4-6L/minute on walks), and my inability to travel or make travel plans without a portable oxygen concentrator. On Tuesday I called the oxygen company again to find out the status of my order. My pulmonologist sent the original prescription on September 9, and I wrote in my last post about the maddening process of getting it approved. Since I'd initially been told it could take 6-8 weeks to get one, I was expecting them to say it would take that much longer.

Well, I received shockingly good news: it has been approved and will be delivered next Wednesday!!! My co-pay will be $3 (it costs ~$2400 without insurance). Here is my new baby:

Apparently I will have to start playing bocce ball after I get my portable (thankfully, we have a set).

The concentrator will weigh just 5-6 lbs. depending on the battery type. The downside is it only delivers a max of 1L/minute, which is less than what I need for walking outside, doing errands, etc. When I realized this, I was overcome by a wave of disappointment. I thought once I had a portable I wouldn't need to lug oxygen tanks anymore, but I was wrong. It could be weeks or months before I can walk around on just 1L. However, now I can go on overnight trips within a short driving distance (e.g., Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, DC). I can use the portable at night and oxygen tanks when I am walking around.

I have always been an even-keel person. As I once told a friend, "I don't get into spaces." (In my early 20s, I showed up at work for a Saturday event, the morning after a fire destroyed my friend's and my apartment in Chicago.)  But life with cancer + pulmonary embolisms is a daily emotional roller coaster. In particular, I am grieving the loss of my identity as an athlete and fit person--not to mention the ability to exist, walk, and go about my daily life without feeling short of breath. I have many moments where I still can't believe that cancer, pulmonary embolisms, and the accompanying physical limitations are my new reality. I see someone biking down the street or read friends' Facebook posts about going on a hike and I feel sad that I can't do these things that I once took for granted. The portable concentrator will certainly make my life more convenient and increase my mobility, but it won't restore my identity or reverse my limitations.