Quit Before It's Too Late

If I Could Turn Back Time
by Brenny

There's a line in a song that says "If I could turn back time". . . They're simple words, yet they have an intensely profound meaning to me as I struggle to rid myself of my forty-year addiction to cigarettes.

I spent my teenage years in the 1960's - a time when two fingers held up in the air meant "peace", a time when we challenged anyone in authority (especially our parents) and a time when the bravest of us experimented with "free love" and drugs.

My parents both smoked heavily, as did the vast majority of their friends. I'm not going to use that as an excuse to justify my smoking habit because I chose to smoke, so the consequences are mine and mine alone. No one put a gun to my head and forced me to smoke.

I can remember the sickening dizziness, nausea and dry retching that accompanied my first smoke almost as if it was yesterday. I can also remember asking myself why I would want to feel like that and answering that I was going to smoke because I could. I could do whatever I liked because I was a "flower child". I was thirteen years old. . .

Today I am a much wiser than that naive thirteen year-old little girl. Sadly, however, it has taken two heart attacks, congestive heart failure and emphysema to make me see that, once the NicoDemon has you in his grip, he is not going to let go easily. I am six weeks into my quit and I know that, if I blow it and smoke again, I might as well just go and sign my own death certificate, dig my own grave and crawl in. Now I lay me down for keeps. . .

If I could turn back time, I would knock some sense into that stupid little girl. I would tell her about all the things she's going to miss later in life. I'd tie her to the bedpost until she woke up to the horrible damage she is preparing to do to herself. I would do these things because I loved her, because I want her to have a normal, happy life.

If I could turn back time, I wouldn't be a virtual prisoner in my house, living on a disability pension that barely pays the bills, making no allowance for even the slightest "luxury". I wouldn't struggle for breath as I slowly walk from one room to another. I wouldn't have to sit there feeling useless as I watch my precious husband try to juggle working, caring for me, shopping, cooking, cleaning, gardening, and everything else that goes into maintaining a household - all the things that used to be my job.

If I could turn back time, I wouldn't have to turn down invitations to parties and other functions only because I know I wouldn't be able to climb the stairs. I wouldn't have to time my showers so my husband is around to help dry me and dress me because I run out of breath and strength, unable to take care of myself. I wouldn't have to stare longingly at the swimming pool on a scorching hot day, wishing someone would come along, because my cardiologist has told me that my heart is too fragile to ever risk swimming alone.

If I could turn back time, I wouldn't have to swallow eighteen pills a day to keep me alive. I wouldn't have to live every minute of every day with the knowledge that my life has been considerably shortened by my own hand.

If I could turn back time, I would be able to pick up my precious grandchildren and walk or play with them, instead of having to sit alone, waiting for someone put them on my lap. I would be able to do all the things I took for granted before I let the NicoDemon mess up my life, things like walking in the forest, riding a bike, singing, driving, running in the wind for the sheer joy of it, browsing in the markets on a Sunday morning, gardening, going to the beach (the sand plays havoc with the wheels on my electric wheelchair). I would be truly alive instead of just existing, waiting for Death to take me.

If I could turn back time, I wouldn't have to sit here, telling my story to you. I sincerely hope that the reason you're reading this is because you have decided to quit smoking, too.

Please don't let this happen to you. Don't wait until it's too late for you, like it is for me. Because, you know, no matter how hard you want to - and, God, do I want to, you can't turn back time.

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I'm All Out of Time
by Heidi

Sigh... I knew this was coming, really. Today, I found out the results of a breathing tests taken 2 days before I quit smoking (for good). I have moderate COPD, or Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease.

I remember being twenty years old and thinking, cough, cough, "Gee, I seem more affected by cigs than my friends. They smoke twice as much as me, but my cough seems much, much worse! Ah, well. I'm young yet. I'll quit before it's a problem."

I remember being Twenty-five and thinking, hack, cough, hack, "Gosh, I really do seem extra sensitive to cigarette smoke. Geez, I seem to even lose my singing voice sometimes and I know it's from the smoking. But I'm young yet, I still have time."

I remember being Thirty and thinking can't breath while laughing, "How odd. Why do my lungs seem to collapse on me when I laugh sometimes? I don't see my other friends doing that and they smoke. Well, no worries, I'm still fairly young. There's still time. But damn, I've been smoking a lot of pot and cigs since I was 14! Well, there's still some time."

I remember being 35, and thinking pretty much the same damned thing.

Well, guess what? I'm too late! Moderate COPD is the diagnoses. Now I must learn more about this and what it means -- what I can do. The doctor said I could retake the breathing tests in 6 months (provided I continue not smoking) so I can see if there's any improvement. I know the damage can not be reversed. I hope I don't get lung cancer, but it's a fact that the chances of that, for me, are now elevated.

If you're 20, 25, 30, whatever, thinking "I'm young yet. There's still time." That is pure, unadulterated Bull. Get a clue! You only get one body for this experience. The air sacs of your lungs are not designed to take in toxins! You are the product of a consumer driven sickness in your society. It will win. You will lose. And, while you lose, you will stink, wheeze, cough, spend money. Fun, eh?

Quit smoking while there's still time for you. And when you quit:

Stick to the quit. Stick to the quit. Stick to the quit. While there's still time.

Heidi, proud of her meter, even if she is out of time.

[As of August 11, 2004] I've not smoked one single cig or puff thereof for one week, three days, and 20 hours. I've said, "NO WAY," to 173 cigarettes. I've saved $33.78 toward the tattoo fund, and I've got 14 hours, 25 minutes more to spend (perhaps) on this glorious, spinning planet.

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I Remember
by Dawn

I remember how it all began. I doubt if anyone in AS3 didn't know about the serious health risks before they started smoking. I certainly knew. In fact, I was fervently anti-smoking in my teens. I didn't start smoking until I was 21, unlike most of you precocious young rebels who started in your early teens or even before.

I remember starting because I was curious about the strange hold this habit had on otherwise intelligent people, like my college roommate, who said she wanted to quit but kept right on smoking.

I remember the strange lightheaded buzz I got when I first started - it was really rather pleasant. That sensation stopped after the first week - why, oh why, didn't I?

I remember reminding myself that I should have a cigarette after meals when I was eating alone. I wasn't addicted yet - I should have realized that I was headed for trouble.

I remember thinking that I should quit because I was wasting too much money. This was when cigarettes went above $10.00 a carton back in 1960, when I'd been smoking for less than a year. But I decided to smoke for a year and then quit to prove to myself that it was easy to quit if you wanted to. I was still smoking when the price rose to $50.00 a carton thirty-nine years later. At a pack and a half a day, I was really wasting money but that no longer had any influence on me.

I remember watching my father's health slowly deteriorate over a ten-year period, until he died of the influenza I caught at work and passed on to him. By then, my old college roommate had quit, but I was thoroughly hooked and believed I enjoyed smoking. I knew I'd quit before it affected *my* health. Remind you of anyone?

I remember my mother's rapid decline after she was diagnosed with lung cancer. Although she had beaten breast cancer twice over a quarter of a century before, she died within two months of being diagnosed with lung cancer.

I remember all the anti-smoking advertising, which annoyed me and made me determined to continue. I would not be browbeaten into quitting. The increasing frequency of anti-smoking sentiments, scientific reports on more deleterious effects of smoking and semi-scientific reports of the effects of second hand smoke just irritated me.

I remember finally realizing I needed to quit. A few earnest attempts at quitting got off to a good start, then succumbed to the notorious "just one". I was discouraged by the ease with which, overnight, I went back to smoking just as much as before. Just like you, eh?

I remember being sure I was never going to be able to quit, so I told myself that I wanted to become a little old lady defiantly puffing away. Sure I had a cough. True, that phlegm was not too lady like. But that was just clearing the gunk out of my lungs in the morning. I was just fine; smoking wasn't actually hurting me. It's amazing what awful stuff we can rationalize.

I remember November, 1999, when I found I was getting noticeably short of breath, and was sent for those lung function tests. I had early emphysema. The most frightening thing about it was that I knew I had to quit, and I didn't really want to quit. But I had to, so I did. For a few hours. The next day I quit again. For a day and a half. I could see myself dying the long slow death my father died. I dreaded that conspicuous symbol of the stupidity of smoking - the oxygen tank - but I still couldn't quit.

I remember finding AS3, and discovering that others were suffering just as I was, and were not giving in. The old timers kept chiming in with the reassuring chant of "It gets better." I was finally able to see quitting as possible. It was a while longer before I was able to see quitting as desirable, but even that eventually happened, too.

I remember being so grateful to AS3 for literally saving my life that I couldn't walk away from the group. I hung around long after I made it to OF, mainly posting a few jokes now and then, but also keeping an eye out for posters who developed thyroid problems after quitting, as I had; I also posted for the scared ones being diagnosed with emphysema. I cruised along for almost four years, feeling rather proud, and able to tell newbies sincerely that "It gets better."

I remember late 2003, when, after a chest X Ray follow up for my emphysema, the other shoe fell. From my first post, "Worry, worry, worry," in late October, to "Alas, not a zebra" posted in early January 2004, AS3 followed the suspicious shadow on the X Ray through an inconclusive CT scan, and then needle biopsy to the diagnosis of lung cancer.

I remember there were several more sophisticated lung function tests along the way, because people with emphysema can be poor candidates for having parts of lungs removed even if that is the only way to get rid of the cancer. They determined I'd have enough lung function left to survive after surgery.

I remember the unnerving, terrible wait for a surgery date. Through all this and then the actual surgery, AS3 provided me with unfailing support. The Healing Circle formed for me within the group will always be the most beautiful memory in the midst of this terrifying time.

I remember that, while most cancer patients can expect sympathy and support, lung cancer is generally seen as being caused by the victim. It's embarrassing to admit that you have lung cancer. People wish you well, but you know they think it's your own fault, and no one is a harsher judge than the patient. Even the doctors, although they don't come right out and say, "Well, you did this to yourself, you know.", nevertheless make sure you're reminded of this fact by requiring details of your smoking history at your first visit.

Well, I'm still here, and I should be thankful. But life will never be the same. Not only do I have to deal with ongoing post-surgical nerve pain and severely diminished lung function, there is the constant uncertainty about the possibility of recurrence. You don't think about these things when you start smoking, or when you try to quit and find it seems too difficult. You should.

I will always remember how I alone am responsible for the degeneration of my health. I will always remember that I could have avoided this by just not lighting that first cigarette. I will always remember that over the years I ignored many opportunities to quit. I sincerely hope that, any time you are tempted to smoke, you will remember my story, and that it will help to strengthen your resolve.

Remember this story. Remember me. Remember the pain and suffering I have endured. Remember that the temporary discomfort of quitting can never compare to the agony of discovering that you have permanently damaged your health.

I remember. Every day.

In Memorium - In late February, 2006, Dawn reached the clearing at the end of the path. You see, her cancer had returned, and this time it was terminal. Although I never met Dawn in person, she meant a lot to me, as she did to many other Net Friends whom she helped with their quits. I am honored that she called me her friend. - LB

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