Sometimes Our Hearts Break A Little.

I glanced out my window the other night. I was struck by this oul fellah struggling along on his cane to the requisite 25 feet from our building. Snow was coming down fast, the plows had been around three times already.

He balanced himself carefully on the stick and lit up. Rules are no smoking in the building or within 25 feet of it. The rule is taken seriously. Even when you're dying of lung cancer.

As he is.

As a recovered nicotine addict (2 packs a day when it was allowed everywhere even on planes and post partum in the maternity wing - yeah, I know, appalling breathing smoke on our newborns, you would be dumbfounded if you saw a photo of back then, I do have one somewhere) I sympathize with him. We attribute my late brother's death to tobacco, he had quit for years and then went back for about 10 years which, I believe, nailed him to the cross of cancer.

All 6 of us siblings were smokers and quit along the way. My own withdrawal (no medical support back then, 38 years ago) was so terrible I knew I could never smoke again as I would never quit again.

This poor fellah tried to quit. I just know he did. All smokers do whether they say so or not. And now, in his late sixties he's dying one of the worst kind of deaths. Fighting for breath, plugging in tanks, yearning for the one thing that would bring him a comfort he defines.

Yeah. I'm so sad for him. 

PS I can't post this on local social media as many would know him.

Denial

A friend was taken to the hospital with severe breathing difficulties.

We do this, as he did, when we're older: we pretend severe symptoms are:

(1)Passing
(2)Imagination
(3)A nuisance, but let's not tell anyone because, you know, they might over-react and worry and insist on stupid stuff like ambulances.

He's been hospitalized a week now and all sorts of nuisancy eye-rolling tests have occurred which he has shared with some of his closest friends.

It turns out there are four blockages in the veins leading to his heart, pretty severe blockages, which is going to necessitate by-pass surgeries as stents are considered too risky as he's 76. So he's in line for major surgery and it might be today.

Like myself, he was a heavy smoker and we quit about the same time, around thirty years ago.

BUT the lifelong effects are with us both. And when doctors and technicians informed me about MY smoking and the now disastrous effects on my legs and arms, my internal dialogue tells me they haven't a clue, look at the running races, the half-marathons, etc., how could a long ago habit affect me now?

My friend T has reinforced all this ridiculous denial for me. And I do so wish the young would quit while there is time. I quit in my forties after only 24 years of it but it was enough to do untold damage to my vascular system which has now aged and is unable to cope anymore. Much like my friend T's.

We've been led to believe it's lung cancer we should be worried about. But I, for one, ignored the fine print of it's other long-term effects. T has brought it all home to me, and now I really believe that yes, it was the stupid smoking that I'm paying for now.

Mixed Emotions

Living with others has its trials and tribulations. I get to the conclusion I don't share the sandbox well unless the visits are of short durations or with the type who have profound knowledge of or have simpatico of the other. In sync as it were and I have a few of those.

I'm not terrific around smokers, I'm talking the fierce, smoke-gulping kind who need constant hits of the drug. (And I was such a creature until nearly 30 years ago. So I have an understanding.)

A friend who stayed with me all last week to Monday past, in my age range, has yet to quit nicotine. So my time was spent waiting for her to finish, to start, or to plan the next intake from the white tube. Not to mention detours to buy the weeds. And the house freezing as she bounded in and out.

It's been years since I've been around non-social smokers so it took a fair degree of tolerance and understanding from me. I found resentments piling up as I waited yet again for her to come back into the restaurant or the car or the house.

I thought toting a book to occupy me would be rude. But I found my subtle android screen-sucking would entertain me and remove the puss off my face.

But still...often she ran into stranger-smokers outside and as she's gregarious could light up yet another in their company as they chewed the fat between drags.

I love her dearly but dear gawd, if I added up all the time waiting for her in various locations, I would be canonized.

How do others deal with this?

It's not a topic I've ever seen addressed.

She's gone back to the homeland now, so my life has been returned to me to do with as I will.

And she's never been interested in my blog, even if she had the expertise to locate it for Google is beyond her.

30 Days - Day 29

I could do my head some serious injury as I read the daily newspaper and bang it off the nearest hard surface.

Yeah, I renewed my subscription about 3 months ago. Call me a sentimental old fool, but there's something about the 7.30 a.m. delivery to my wee red box on the pillar in the driveway, the breakfast, the paper propped up before me. I know The Telegram, our Newfoundland daily newspaper, is on its last legs. It's shrunk to the size of a postage stamp and could be read from slender cover to back page car ads in 10 minutes flat.

But!

Where would you ever get to chuckle over the ad up above? I would want a washer not telling but actually doing: like offloading the wash into the dryer automatically, then the dryer decanting and folding the contents when dry and putting the laundry away in drawers? Now they'd be talking alright.

And then, a shudder of horror as I read about Labrador City who are rebating the 11 cent tax on each cigarette to bring more trade to local businesses. Yes, you read that right.

Imagine, if you will, the sheer madness of a government encouraging people to die more cheaply.

Surly Bonds of Earth

Try as I might, I can't stop the only mental picture I have of my good friend David who slipped the surly bonds on Wednesday night.

It's not a good image. It's an image of him curled around a cigarette, outside buildings, on porches, sliding into his car. Banished to the outside of life, white stick in hand, smoke curling around his yellow face. Always standing at a distance, sucking in lungfuls of carcinogens. His hugs had the deep, invasive pall of nicotine. Enough to make one gag, enough to make one cough to cover up the gag. His skin showed it. His clothes wept it. His death exalts it to a sacrament.

Another good friend said to me one time after we both quit the evil weed. "Past forty, if one continues to smoke, one begins to look like a cigarette." I have to agree. David, along with many other good friends who continued on puffing, looked like a cigarette.

"Begone," I would scream at my not insignificant habit, "You effing white little tube, you do NOT own me anymore." This, along with other mantras and behaviour changes helped me kick it to the curb. Twenty five years ago now. I was seeing too much death from it then. Still do.

I didn't sleep last night. Too much leakage out of the memory bank. Too much what ifs.

If you're a smoker out there, stop. Stop! If I can, with my forty-a-day habit, anyone can.

His death was agony.

Chalk another one up to Rothman's.

Swimming in the Sea of Me

~~Photo of sunset, from my front deck, a couple of nights ago.

~~Facts about me:

Even if I lived in just one room, I could not live without a cleaning person. I can make an instant slum of any room, anywhere, in about 2 minutes. I scatter into peripheral bits: books, pots, hair bling, PJs, favourite pillow, shoes, towels, journal, meditation assists, clothes sorting, laptop, cords, printer, coffee mug. You get the picture.

I still get totally insecure around a male who takes an interest in me.

I would be considered a 'best friend' by at least four men and five women.

I've never been bored in my life.

I could talk the hind leg off a donkey.
BUT
I am a very good listener.

I am a foodie who can't keep cookies, candies, sweets, chocolate, biscuits, icecream, cakes or pastries in the house as I don't have an OFF switch. Sorry, drop-in guests.

I was a two pack (50) a day smoker and quit cold turkey over 23 years ago. I would have a carton in my car, in my office and in my house. I never ran out of ciggies.

I am a news junkie.

I take on too many things at once. See NOW.

I am one of those rare birds who knows she is happiest living alone. Well, okay, with Ansa.

I would be considered an eccentric oddball by my siblings.

Best description of me would be a "Gregarious Loner".