My husband is on oxygen assistance 24 hours per day. What that means is anytime he goes outside the house, he must carry a tank of oxygen on his shoulder or over his back. These tanks only last about four hours, so we must plan our outings according to his "fuel" supply.
In the home, however, he has an oxygen concentrator. It's a machine that makes oxygen. It sits on the floor in the hallway between the living room and bedroom. He has a fifty foot length of tubing which tethers him to the machine, but allows him freedom to walk around the house at will.
See my evil grin? My office is on the lower floor of our home at the extreme opposite of the area where his concentrator sits. Our stairs creak when anyone walks on them. So, now when I'm writing, he doesn't have the option of interrupting me without me being fully warned. And his tubing only reaches to the door of the office. Now, by the time he reaches me, I'm turned in my chair waiting to hear what he has to say. And, he makes very few trips down the stairs. : ) Ah, the joy of having long periods of uninterruption when I'm deep into telling my story.
Enjoy your day!