by Nellie Curtiss …
There’s a draconian dragon in my house. It’s not Sean Connery’s Dragonheart, or the celebrated Komodo Dragon, but it is a boisterous, noisy, and nosey thing all the same.
Blue grey in color at its head, this my-way-or-the-highway beast throws oxygen out nostrils that top-off a long hollow tail.
That tail, sometimes green, sometimes colorless can wrap about legs faster than one purring and tamed Tortoiseshell house cat, or a raiding army crawling through historic byways. At night, the beast breathes out oxygen at a steady pace, calm and unchallenged. Once woken, the cold and twisted tail seeks out warmth and feet like a heat seeking reptile. Tumbling follows as the human wrestles with this bully, at least until, a hand steadies the body from a full fall brought on by the oppressive ogre in the corner of the kitchen and it’s demanding tail.
Afterwhile, one sleeper is awakened from a nervous nightmare. Readied for the midnight trip to the ‘fridge, she pours her feet into slippers and parks glasses on her nose. Then as the canella spins into a choker, her spine completes its stretch upward.
However, this dragon’s collar must be tamed, so the canella comes off her ears for a quick twist and twirl, and the tubing is subdued, until the next time it refuses any breath.
Then a hiss permeates. Where is the nosey dragon hissing from? Searching along the cold tubular tail, she finds a kink whistling and spitting. Somewhere on that tail, a crimp or jagged bite’s dent underlines where a small feline bit down. Still the boisterous rumbling dragon blows and bellows on.
Walking to the front door, in a hurry or slow, she finds the dragon tail again wrapped about this stool leg and drooling over that sculpted terracotta. With one yank like a lion tamer, then two jerks, a whip in the air—alas, the tail moves on without a snare. Thank goodness. Then, she reaches the door and lets a sweet tabby enter.
The trick is to stay even keeled. No matter the slight waged by the curled dictating dragon, the human must react in steady, thoughtful, breathable moments. Otherwise, a sudden heave could collapse the humidity bottle riding on the dragon concentrator. Like a spout on a whale, the fight for breath doesn’t stop the tricks of the beast.
This O2 dragon is the oxygen concentrator placed and guarded by Gerald from Lincare. Oxygen therapy is no easy skill to master, and any human bogged down forgetting to breathe may tangle with such a tubal tyrant. Keep the concentrator and its demands in check: walk lightly, purposefully, gingerly, and always aware where the tubal threads lie in wait. Otherwise, call your friendly dragon tamer, Lincare, for help with the unwieldy 25 foot or longer tangled tails (i.e., oxygen tubing).
Who knew what a dragon in the house would demand?
Columns by nellie 