The Dive

I am now a veteran of four "dives" in UCSD Medical Center's hyperbaric oxygen chamber.

I approached my first day with a paradoxical combination of anxiety and determination to make it a positive experience. Arriving early, already dressed in the required cotton green scrubs, I took a seat in the waiting area with two other patients, similarly attired in our treatment uniform. A staff member, Matt, also in scrubs, sat down next to me to review the "dive" process and explain what I could expect. This was my introduction to the description of each treatment session as if it were, in fact, a dive in the ocean.

First we would "descend," as the ambient air pressure in our chamber was gradually increased. Since it would be my first time, we would descend more slowly than usual, with Matt by my side to watch and make sure I was able to clear my ears continually and showed no signs of distress. "You have to keep ahead of the descent," Matt said, so that pain-causing pressure doesn't build up." Since some people "just can't clear their ears," and the descent is noisy, I was shown the hand sign to communicate "stop," at which point the "driver" of the dive will terminate the descent until either the patient is finally able to equalize pressure in his or her ears, or, in some instances, until it is clear that the patient needs to be brought "back up." Some patients need to have ear tubes inserted, like those children with frequent ear infections receive, before they can "dive." I hoped I wouldn't be one of those.

Once we reached the desired "depth", I was told, each patient would be fitted with a transparent plastic hood, which attached to a collar we would have put over our heads before the dive started. One hose connected to the collar would provide the 100% oxygen we would breathe for three thirty-minute sessions, with five minutes in between, and the other would remove our breathing "exhaust". I was reminded that a staff member was always in the dive with us, and that person was responsible for attaching and disconnecting the hoods and controlling the rate of the oxygen flow. Sometimes patients become nauseous while receiving oxygen, Matt told me. I was shown the hand sign for "Come help me now!" and encouraged to respond early to signs of nauseousness, rather than risk throwing up in the hood. I assured him I would comply.

After I signed a form agreeing that I had been told all of the safety rules for a dive (no cell phones or any electronic devices, nothing remotely flammable, etc.), Matt took my blood pressure and temperature. I was pleasantly surprised to see that my blood pressure was very comfortably in the normal range. Perhaps focusing on breathing in hope was helping to calm my nerves.

It was time to enter the chamber.