The Oxygenated Rut

Lacey* was sent to the hospital a few weeks ago. On her return, the doctor ordered she wear oxygen all the time. Unfortunately, Lacey does not seem to enjoy the foreign plastic impeding her nose and continually blowing air into her nostrils. It’s a constant itch and the hose stretches across her right arm, hampering her ability to pick out correct crayon colors:  apricot or peach (according to Lacey, these colors are not different because one has hair and the other doesn’t. Who knew?!)?  So, she takes the oxygen off. I put it back on. She takes it off. I put it back on. She takes it off. I put it back on. She yells and scratches. I explain why she needs it and put it back on (while attempting to keep foul language from entering the explanation). So lately I’ve been quiet and fairly unresponsive to her pleas, attempting to avoid contact with her as much as possible… because she’ll take the oxygen out. Then I’ll have to put it back.  

We’re stuck in an oxygenated rut. 

Tonight, though, there was a slight breakthrough. She was angry. I was angry. She took off her oxygen. I put it back on. She took off her oxygen. I put it back on. She blew really hard. I flew back in my chair as if hit by colossal winds and accused her of trying to blow me away. She laughed a little. I blew back. At this point I was really hoping she would blow away…perhaps the wheelchair would roll, roll, roll until I could no longer see it or the oxygen tank attached to it.  Lacey made no attempt to acquiesce my feeble winds. Keeping the alien plastic in her nose, she continued to blow.

Later, we decided that she was blowing so well, the oxygen must be working. Maybe tomorrow she’ll be strong enough to blow me right through the wall! After the way I’ve been acting, this seems to be a master motivator.

The other day I asked my sister, Emma, about love. Since love is supposed to be a choice, is it more about actions and outwardly choosing to do what’s best, not giving in to what’s really on the inside? Lately, it has been difficult to love the screaming, scratching, swatting version of Lacey.  She only behaves this way because she doesn’t understand, and I imagined a wind blowing her away like a Winnie the Pooh episode, for goodness’ sake!

Our conclusion: I should probably pray more. For transformation. 

*name changed