Pillar Two, Oxygen When the Suit Learns to Breathe
We began with sleep — the first domino, the quiet architect of healing — in When the Dots Finally Connected. Before that, in Evolving Kinks in Our Spacesuits, we told the truth: this body is not the soul, it is the suit. Suits need adjustments. Suits get upgraded. Suits sometimes require oxygen.
And here we are. Three and a half weeks into nighttime oxygen and three and a half weeks into something I resisted more than I expected.
I wish I could say I greeted the cannula like a badge of wisdom, like a pilot calmly adjusting her mask before takeoff. I did not. I heard the whisper of age. I heard the echo of dependency. I heard the old story that needing support means losing strength.
And yet. Three and a half weeks later, I am waking at five instead of three. No heart racing. No internal furnace igniting at 3:42 a.m. No lying in the dark, wondering whether my body is rebelling or simply asking to be heard.
I still wake sometimes, and the nights are not perfect, and the fan still negotiates with the thermostat like two stubborn diplomats. This is not magic. This is learning.
Here is what I have noticed. When oxygen stays steady, sleep deepens. When sleep deepens, morning feels possible. When morning feels possible, appetite steadies. When appetite steadies, cravings quiet. When cravings quiet, the scale shifts without drama.
Three and a half pounds gone in one week — not through force, not through white-knuckling, not through punishing workouts — and through safety. Safety. That is the word. For years, I treated sleep, weight, heart rhythm, overheating, and early waking as separate villains. Separate battles. Separate failures. Connecting the dots showed me something different: they were messengers in the same story.
During sleep, oxygen saturation naturally dips a little, and in some of us it dips too much. Even modest drops can trigger the sympathetic nervous system — the fight-or-flight branch — releasing stress hormones such as cortisol and adrenaline. That internal alarm clock is excellent if a bear is chasing you. It is exhausting if you are lying in bed at 3:17 a.m.
Research shows that fragmented sleep and nocturnal hypoxia are associated with increased cortisol, impaired glucose regulation, heightened appetite signaling, and even arrhythmia risk. Sleep deprivation alone can shift ghrelin and leptin — the hormones that regulate hunger and fullness — nudging the body toward craving quick carbohydrates and storing fat more efficiently. Add oxygen drops to the mix, and the body does what it was designed to do: protect itself.
Protect first. Burn later. My body was not betraying me. My body was guarding me.
How many years did I interpret protection as a malfunction?
How many nights did I call it insomnia when it was survival?
How many times did I try to discipline a nervous system that was asking for reassurance?
The cannula curves gently under my nose, designed to rest there and deliver a soft stream of air. I can feel when it sits right. I can feel the flow. I change it as instructed, and I use saline spray when dryness creeps in, and this ritual that once felt foreign now feels like buckling a seatbelt before takeoff. Not glamorous. And wise. There is humility in admitting the suit needs support. There is courage in adjusting the wings mid-flight.
Nighttime oxygen does not mean I am declining. It means I am refining. It means I am responding to data instead of denying it. It means the pilot is paying attention to the dashboard. Three and a half weeks is early. This is still a learning journey. I am observing. Tweaking. Listening. There is no grand finale yet, only quieter mornings and steadier afternoons and a body that seems less startled by its own existence. That matters.
In pillar one, we stabilized sleep. In pillar two, we stabilize oxygen. Sleep is the architecture. Oxygen is the foundation. Without air, no cell thrives. Without steady oxygen, the brain stays alert for danger. With support, the nervous system softens. The body shifts from guarding to healing. I am not weaker because I need oxygen at night. I am stronger because I accepted it. And here is the deeper layer: the spirit was never diminished. The spacesuit needed calibration. The pilot remained intact.
Have you ever resisted something that later became a source of relief?
Have you ever mistaken adaptation for failure?
What if the very thing you fear signals decline is actually the bridge to resilience?
Grounding allows the wings to work the way they were designed to work, and when we honor the body’s need for air, we begin to see support not as surrender and strength not as strain, and that shift in vision is how we change the way we see and change the way we live.
Selected Scientific References
Tasali, E., Leproult, R., & Spiegel, K. (2008). Reduced sleep duration and leptin, elevated ghrelin, and increased hunger and appetite. PLoS Medicine, 5(3), e62.
Spiegel, K., Leproult, R., & Van Cauter, E. (1999). Impact of sleep debt on metabolic and endocrine function. The Lancet, 354(9188), 1435–1439.
Somers, V. K., White, D. P., Amin, R., et al. (2008). Sleep apnea and cardiovascular disease. Journal of the American College of Cardiology, 52(8), 686–717.
Punjabi, N. M. (2008). The epidemiology of adult obstructive sleep apnea. Proceedings of the American Thoracic Society, 5(2), 136–143.
St-Onge, M. P., et al. (2016). Sleep duration and quality: impact on lifestyle behaviors and cardiometabolic health. Circulation, 134(18), e367–e386.
Speaking: The Blind Elephant in the Room: Changing the Way You See and Relate to Others
Lion’s 6C District Convention
Date: Saturday, March 7, 2026
Time: 10:00 – 11:00 AM
Location: Hilton: 3203 Quebec Street
Playing piano: Gallo Italian Supper Club and Bakery
Date: April 29, 2026
Time: 5:30 – 8:30 PM
Location: 3470 South Broadway Street, Englewood, CO 80113
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