ms_terese
Irrelevant User
I have to get this off my chest, as it's been festering for nearly a week now...
Last week, a lovely woman that has worked with my company for over 20 years came to clean out her desk and say goodbye to her many friends and co-workers. She isn't retiring. She's dying. She weighs less than 80 lbs. and is almost too weak to walk. She's been through treatment after treatment since her cancer was discovered 2 years ago, but there is no hope left.
Her husband and daughter came with her, certainly for moral support but also to help her walk down the halls. Her husband has aged 100 years in the past 2; her daughter looks as fragile as spun sugar. She is trying to be supportive of her father, and help her mother leave this world. She is hoping that her mom hangs on until Thanksgiving, but it's a very dim hope.
This dear, wonderful woman is 54 years old.
3 months ago, I lost my sister in law. Same story, and nearly the same age: 56. Months of physical agony during treatments and recovery from treatments and then the dread of MORE treatments. Finally, the horrid realization that there was no more fight left, and that awful wait until the end.
I should have been prepared, of course, because it's all very familiar. I watched my mother leave this world at 60 years of age. I watched her cry in pain for 2 1/2 years. I went with her to countless medical appointments. I watched her wittle away to 48 lbs.
Do you know what they all had in common? Their cancers all began as lung cancer. They all smoked.
They knew the risks. Hell, they sometimes (before the diagnosis) joked about the risk. "Gotta go sometime", "Nobody lives forever", "Hell, everything gives you cancer so it doesn't matter what I do", "My (fill in the blank with father, mother, grandfather, whomever) smoked for 70 years and never even had a cold." That one is my favorite.
Yes, it's a free flippin' country and everyone has a right to do whatever they want. Yet, I'm angry. I'm angry because I know I never want to see my children look the way the children of these women looked when the end was near for their mothers. I don't want to cause my husband the pain that I've seen on the faces of the men who promised to love, honor and cherish in sickness and in health. I'm so ANGRY! How dare they! How dare they risk their precious selves over a damned cigarette!
No, not every smoker is going to die of lung cancer. If I don't wear a seatbelt, I am not destined to be in a car accident either, but I wear my seatbelt anyway because I don't want to take that chance. It's not worth it. Cigarettes aren't worth it either.
Nope, no guarantees how long we're going to be here. I know that. I know we're all going to die sometime. But if you smoke, you should also acknowledge that you're willing to cause your loved ones excruciating pain to enjoy your addiction, to live within your addiction, to take the easy way out. The fact is that once you die, it's over for you....you'll go on (hopefully, ya little dickens) to a better place. Yet your family will spend countless weeks or months cloaked in sadness, crying themselves to sleep, having nightmares, battling depression. Just when they might begin to get a handle on it, along comes a holiday or birthday or anniversary, and they'll slide back again. They'll feel guilty for not confronting you about those damned cigarettes, even though they knew it would cause a fight. They'll spend hours thinking of all they'd give up to have you back for just one more day, and wonder why, oh Lord WHY, could you have not given up the thing that took you away from them?
If you love your family, really love them, please don't gamble with your life. You don't think it will happen to you? Look at the statistics. Maybe the numbers are flawed, but there's one thing for sure: those aren't just numbers; they're mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons, daughters, cousins, friends...they're people that are sorely missed, and have left a trail of heartbreak behind them.
I'm done now. I don't really feel better, but I've cried it out and that's a start.
Last week, a lovely woman that has worked with my company for over 20 years came to clean out her desk and say goodbye to her many friends and co-workers. She isn't retiring. She's dying. She weighs less than 80 lbs. and is almost too weak to walk. She's been through treatment after treatment since her cancer was discovered 2 years ago, but there is no hope left.
Her husband and daughter came with her, certainly for moral support but also to help her walk down the halls. Her husband has aged 100 years in the past 2; her daughter looks as fragile as spun sugar. She is trying to be supportive of her father, and help her mother leave this world. She is hoping that her mom hangs on until Thanksgiving, but it's a very dim hope.
This dear, wonderful woman is 54 years old.
3 months ago, I lost my sister in law. Same story, and nearly the same age: 56. Months of physical agony during treatments and recovery from treatments and then the dread of MORE treatments. Finally, the horrid realization that there was no more fight left, and that awful wait until the end.
I should have been prepared, of course, because it's all very familiar. I watched my mother leave this world at 60 years of age. I watched her cry in pain for 2 1/2 years. I went with her to countless medical appointments. I watched her wittle away to 48 lbs.
Do you know what they all had in common? Their cancers all began as lung cancer. They all smoked.
They knew the risks. Hell, they sometimes (before the diagnosis) joked about the risk. "Gotta go sometime", "Nobody lives forever", "Hell, everything gives you cancer so it doesn't matter what I do", "My (fill in the blank with father, mother, grandfather, whomever) smoked for 70 years and never even had a cold." That one is my favorite.
Yes, it's a free flippin' country and everyone has a right to do whatever they want. Yet, I'm angry. I'm angry because I know I never want to see my children look the way the children of these women looked when the end was near for their mothers. I don't want to cause my husband the pain that I've seen on the faces of the men who promised to love, honor and cherish in sickness and in health. I'm so ANGRY! How dare they! How dare they risk their precious selves over a damned cigarette!
No, not every smoker is going to die of lung cancer. If I don't wear a seatbelt, I am not destined to be in a car accident either, but I wear my seatbelt anyway because I don't want to take that chance. It's not worth it. Cigarettes aren't worth it either.
Nope, no guarantees how long we're going to be here. I know that. I know we're all going to die sometime. But if you smoke, you should also acknowledge that you're willing to cause your loved ones excruciating pain to enjoy your addiction, to live within your addiction, to take the easy way out. The fact is that once you die, it's over for you....you'll go on (hopefully, ya little dickens) to a better place. Yet your family will spend countless weeks or months cloaked in sadness, crying themselves to sleep, having nightmares, battling depression. Just when they might begin to get a handle on it, along comes a holiday or birthday or anniversary, and they'll slide back again. They'll feel guilty for not confronting you about those damned cigarettes, even though they knew it would cause a fight. They'll spend hours thinking of all they'd give up to have you back for just one more day, and wonder why, oh Lord WHY, could you have not given up the thing that took you away from them?
If you love your family, really love them, please don't gamble with your life. You don't think it will happen to you? Look at the statistics. Maybe the numbers are flawed, but there's one thing for sure: those aren't just numbers; they're mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons, daughters, cousins, friends...they're people that are sorely missed, and have left a trail of heartbreak behind them.
I'm done now. I don't really feel better, but I've cried it out and that's a start.
