The Oxygen Chamber- May 8th

This is the torture chamber

My torture wasn't over on Friday morning. In walks a doctor who I hadn't met before. He explains to me, extremely enthusiastically, (which I appreciate) that they are going to give me a hyperbaric oxygen chamber treatment. 

A hyber doody whatty?

Basically, because of the bruising in my chest, this doctor was working with my plastic surgeon to be as preventative as possible to prevent any cell damage. 

During the surgery they were able to save (spare) my breast skin and nipples. In doing so there is a risk that the cells of the skin could die which would mean a second surgery. The hyperbaric oxygen treatment is an effective way to bring 90+% oxygen to that area. We only typically breathe in 20% on a daily average. 

Do I sound like Bill Nye the science guy right now?

Sad right?! Probably due to all of the pollutants and how horrible we treat our planet, but that is whole other post.

I suffer from anxiety, badly. (Mental note)

So, the doctor comes in and explains I will go inside this clear plastic MRI type of tube. I will relax and lay there for 2 hours. The pressure is dropped below sea level and I will be breathing oxygen. I may experience some ear popping and may get a bit chilly. 

He continues to explain that my insurance probably won't cover the other 9 treatments but he will try his best on his end and I will need to on my end to get authorization. However, the first treatment would be today (Friday the 8th) at noon.

The nurse brings my lunch at 11am which I wasn't too hungry for due to all the nausea I'd been experiencing. She also gave me a Xanax to help calm my nerves. I went to the bathroom before the nurse wheeled me down. When I got there I also went to the bathroom. 

I had to take off my underwear and only were allowed to have on this gown they gave me. They gave me a tube to breath in air if needed, a bottle of water to sip from to help prevent the ear popping and a wrist band on my right hand. I was covered with blankets and given the option between watching The Notebook or Nottinghill.

The overly enthusiastic nurses and doctor ( must be all the oxygen they inhale) pushed me inside this clear plastic tube and spoke to me from an outside telephone attached to my space tube.

This is how they communicate with you

In I went, head propped under pillows but uncomfortable, covered with blankets but not warm enough, water in one hand and movie playing. 

The first 15 minutes I felt pressure in my ears and began sipping my water to alleviate the popping. The noise was much like a hand dryer in a public restroom. I received a call through my tunnel from the chirpy nurse explaining that I was now at level and shouldn't hear as much noise. It indeed quieted down.

I awaited the Xanax to kick in and was trying to stay calm while I looked around at the nurses and the doctor freely standing having conversations amongst themselves while I was stuck in this tube.

Panic arose and I had to take a few deep breaths and focus on the movie.

Around what I thought was halfway thru I was cold and had to pee. I tapped on the plastic and asked how much longer. 

"One hour and 45 minutes," the nurse replied. 

A ginormous amount of panic awoke inside me. 

"Okay, I can do this," I thought to myself. I began to ignore the natural instinctive need to urinate and tried to focus all my attention on the movie. 

I began feeling the urge even stronger and tapped again, asking the nurse how much longer. Explaining. No, pleading, that I really need to pee. Trying to plead bargain as though this were a carnival ride that could be stopped with a simple switch or button. The nurse told me that it was okay to pee if I had to. They were nurses and used to it. Just to let it go like that Disney song. (Yes, She went there!)

Ugh! Easier said than done!!! 

I again tried to divert my attention back on the movie. At this point I could feel the pain in my bladder and the throbbing similar to when you stub your toe on something hard. 

Every second felt like an eternity and time was not on my side. I was trying so hard to watch the movie. At this point it proved as little distraction to the pain in my bladder. I really wished I would have  picked the Notebook. I do love Julia Roberts but Notting Hill was the worst movie to pick for my current situation. It dragged just as long as my time in this tube!

I began sweating and heart rate increased when I banged on the tube again. I expressed almost in tears that I was having a panic attack and physical reaction to having to pee so badly. She explained that I had about 30 more minutes. She stated that she couldn't bring me up fast because my lungs would collapse. Oh great! That's just what I need! I thought that this was bull donkey! I tried for the last hour to just pee as the nurses suggested but I simply could not do it. My logical mind knew peeing anywhere other than the bathroom was not acceptable. Plus, I was lying down and that is not cohesive to the flow of urination. I was panicked and had to breathe, continue being tortured by watching a very slow paced and non thrilling love story, while my bladder felt it would explode from the inside out. 

After what felt like a century, my 30 minutes was up and I was taken from the tube to the restroom. I must have urinated for a good 20 minutes! 

Secretly, I hoped to never have to do this again. I hoped that my insurance declined coverage because that was  torture. There was no way I could do 9 more treatments of that!!! Knowing that they lock you up in there helpless and I would not have my free will to go to the bathroom. No thank you, I'll pass!

I will work on positive thinking, nitro cream, and prayers to get oxygen to my bruised breasts!

I sure as hell did not get this option! No ear plugs and no option for clothing or laptop!

*Disclosure - None of the photos are of my own. Pulled from our worldwide web.*


With Love & Hugs, 

Heather