I realize I am a little ACDC . . . Oh wait, not that, I'm OCD . . . Yeh, that's what I am. Obsessive/Compulsive which is just a fancy term for being a know-it-all that likes to be right. What ever the "disorder" is I OFTEN find myself screaming inside trying very hard not to slap someone up side their head. It usually works but it continues to get harder by the day. The permanent scar that I have on the tip of my tongue from "bitting my tongue" is now so thick that I have developed a lisp. (All of this is of course an exaggeration but not too far from reality.)
Today's exercise in tongue biting comes from You Know Who, AKA The Man. (I know for a fact that Husband is up in Heaven laughing his fool head off because it is no longer him causing my insanity. Something he was quite good at!).
When The Man travels anywhere, whether it is 3 miles into town or 3 thousand miles across the country he ALWAYS carries several sources of oxygen. I totally understand that the thought of not being able to breathe can be quite stressful so naturally the more oxygen tanks and concentrators the better. I have NO problem what so ever with this. In fact I totally support and assist in making sure we have all the tanks, machines and power sources that might be needed should one or more of the concentrators fails to work. The new mini van has been a God send in this department because it is now so easy to slide open the side door and load two concentrators right in back of the drivers seat. Another concentrator gets loaded into the van on the other side of the vehicle. In addition to the 3 concentrators there is also a full tank of oxygen in the "way back" and a small tank of oxygen on the seat in back of the driver. In case you are not counting that is FIVE sources of oxygen being carried with us at any given moment. The two small concentrators are not plugged into the van's power source until they might be needed but we carry all the charging wires with us. All three of the concentrators have plugs that go into the cigarette lighter in the car and an additional set of wires that plug directly into a wall outlet at our destinations. We are prepared for any and all possible emergencies.
The Man is a meticulous person when it comes to his breathing. As well he should be. It is, after all, quite literally a matter of life or death. With that in mind then would someone please explain what his problem is regarding THE PLUG !?
OK . . . The Man has had the larger concentrator for quite a few years. It was one of the first machines that he got when his COPD had progressed to the point of needing air 24/7. In all this time I have NEVER, EVER seen this machine receive any maintenance what so ever. I have not seen The Man clean filters or do anything to any part of this machine to keep it functioning at peak performance. For the most part the machine just sits in the back seat of the car waiting to be turned on when we get in the car. It has a battery that will power it if it's left on by mistake when the car is turned off but its main source of power is the car's engine. It is connected to the car's power by a cord that plugs into the cigarette lighter. (I'm sure you know what that little plug looks like . . . sort of torpedo shaped with a little metal button on the end) When we get into the car The Man turns on the car engine and then reaches over and turns on the concentrator. If all is working as it should be the concentrator starts up, a series of little green lights come on and off we go.
Over a week ago . . . WELL OVER a week ago . . . there was one little green light that did not come on when the machine was started. This particular little light indicates that the concentrator is getting "juice" from the car so you know it is not using up its battery power. (These batteries last about two hours so if we are on a six hour trip the concentrator needs to be powered from the car engine, not its own battery)
I don't know how The Man first noticed this issue but it was cause for much cursing and swearing. Along with the verbal tirade The Man began pulling the plug out of the cigarette lighter and putting it back in. (This is all being done while he is driving) When that didn't work I had to reach into the back seat and pull the cord out of the machine and re plug it to see if that made any difference. (NOPE) So The Man resumed pulling and pushing the plug. (Nada) The next step was to remove the plug from the lighter, shake it, slap it on the palm of his hand and then plug it back in. (Nothing) (By now I am thinking that maybe we should just pull over to work on this but those words never were spoken). FINALLY . . . after much pulling, pushing, slapping, shaking and even a small spray of spit the little green light came on !!!
PHEW !!! We are good to go. NOT !! Only a short time later the little green light went back out but because we were near home we just rode in using battery power. Once at home The Man went through all his antics again and then plugged the machine into an extension cord connected to the house. The battery charged back up, the little green light came on and all was well with the world.
UNTIL the next time we got into the car and turned on the concentrator. It was like the movie "Groundhog Day", Repeat repeat repeat . . . This has now been our daily routine for at least 2 weeks. EVERY single time we get into the car the EXACT same things occur. Light goes out and The Man goes nuts. Kind of sounds like the definition of insanity to me . . . Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results . . .
My take on the whole thing . . . the machine is tired, probably as tired as I am, and it needs some R&R. I have gently asked if there is someplace that the machine can be taken to have it "overhauled" or at least cleaned but so far I am being totally ignored. Today The Man did say he was going to call the VA and tell them he is having a problem with the charger and see if they can send him a new one. So far that hasn't happened.
I guess that 's a start at least but if my breathing depended on it I think I might be a little more proactive.
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