MamaBelle4, I know here I am just one of many posters. But IRL I am a cardiac nurse, and part of what I do for a living is educate people to health issues. I have to have these types of conversations with people who've had major health events - face to face, day after day. After 30-plus years, I've gotten pretty good at it. My patients and their loved ones thank me genuinely, even if and when what I have to say is difficult to hear. They often say they didn't really have a good understanding of things before. So I enjoy helping them understand. It's why I love what I do.
Thank you for realizing that I am not coming from a place of judgement, but one of caring.
On this forum, it's difficult sometimes. If I feel I have information that can help people, I'm apt to say it, because I want to help. (And I'm sure this is very true of others, too.) Lately, though, it's getting more and more that I choose not to respond. Because responses are picked apart. And criticized. We even witnessed a personal attack on me yesterday because someone didn't like what I said. Next time something comes up, I can pretty much guarantee - I'll hesitate, and say to myself, "Don't get involved", which is pretty sad, because it may just be the information someone needs.
So again, I truly hope that this thread was worthwhile, and that it helps your husband find his way to stopping once and for all. There is nothing worse than getting a cancer diagnosis and it coming from something that you knew could cause cancer. People talk to me a lot about their regrets when they are close to dying, and needless to say, that's always a big one. They also want more time. If not for themselves, for their families, who are often begging them to continue to fight, even when they're ready to go. It's hard for them. But being the one to undergo surgeries, take the drugs, be in the hospital, experience all the emotions, etc., takes a toll after a while. And at that point, there's no changing things. It is what it is. It actually haunts me, myself, sometimes, because I care about them, their families, and their emotions, just as I do you, even though we don't know eachother very well.
For the record, I'm not perfect myself. I think my patients like that about me. I'm willing to share with them that I've had my own health issues and demons to overcome, too - like many, if not most of us, do. I'm not just standing there lecturing them. I'm giving them information they need to take care of themselves.
I started to write this the other day, but wound up not including it. I'll try again. So maybe we can eliminate the
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factor.
I started smoking cigarettes at a ridiculously young age. (Eleven, to be exact. I know I'm not alone in this as I've seen others here say the same thing. Many of us grew up in different times.) I came from a family of heavy smokers. Cigarettes were both plentiful and readily available in my house. My parents bought cartons at a time, in different brands. So I'd grab a few packs and off my friends and I would go to smoke. By the time I was 16, I was fully addicted and even had a nice smoker's cough, just like everyone else in my family (except my sister, who never smoked - although she was subjected to lots of second hand smoke, too). We could smoke at work, and I did. But one week, I got a bad chest cold, and it hurt to smoke, so I stopped. For some reason, I decided not to smoke anymore. Honestly, I can't remember why. I think I knew, even at 16, that it was really bad for me, watching my father hack up phlegm all the time, and everyone at home coughing, the walls in the house yellow, etc. It was also around the time that the Surgeon General's campaign against smoking was taking off in full swing.
So I haven't smoked since then. But guess what, I still dream about smoking regularly, all these years later. (Yes, that addiction is strong!) In my dreams, I know that if I have even one cigarette, or buy a pack, I'll become addicted again. Sometimes I am smoking that one, or the pack is in my pants pocket. (!) And the dream turns into kind of a nightmare. I wake up feeling defeated. I also still enjoy the whiff of fresh smoke after a cigarette is first lit. Because despite the negatives, I still have some positive memories associated with smoking. However, the smell of stale smoke or smoke on a person actually makes me feel sick, because there are many not good memories with that. My father died of cardiopulmonary disease at 66. There are so many things, as an adult, I want to ask him about, or talk to him about, or share with him, but that ship has long ago sailed. He never met any of his grandchildren. He never saw me graduate from college, get married, or many other things. He asked me before he died to take care of my mother, and I'm still doing so - she's 92. (With mild COPD, though she stopped smoking when she came to live with me twenty some-odd years ago.)
My brother stopped smoking when he was 50. He successfully used nicotine gum. I honestly never thought he'd be able to do it. Imagine my surprise when recently he came to my house and hugged me, he almost knocked me out with the smell of stale cigarette smoke!
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Turns out his girlfriend smokes, and does so around him, even in the car. I am praying he doesn't start again. He is approaching the age of when our father died, and history often repeats itself in families, so I am worried. He worked so hard to quit, and it wasn't easy. Fingers crossed.