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My parents moved to Brooklyn, NY from St. John’s Newfoundland in 1948. I was born in March, 1950, so I’m first generation American. When I was 5, I was diagnosed with rheumatic fever and was out of school for six months. I also used to get very bad coughs and ear aches that made me cry from the pain, and was told that I had allergies and it was no big deal. My parents were heavy smokers and I grew up watching them smoke constantly, or so it seemed. I thought they looked so cool. I remember my dad used to wake up in the middle of the night when I was a little girl and sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed and smoke a cigarette before going back to sleep. He did that so he wouldn’t run the danger of falling asleep while smoking. I knew he did this because we lived in what was called a railroad or shotgun apartment and I could see into their bedroom from mine. The smell of smoke would wake me up and I’d lay there and watch him smoke and think I wanted to be just like him. When I was 16 I was a junior in an all-girls Catholic high . I was so tired of being on the outside of cool I decided I would start smoking, especially in my school uniform, because that was a big no-no. I thought that would make the popular kids like me better. Funny, isn’t it how things like popularity used to be so important? Anyway, my mom found out I was smoking and decided to teach me how to smoke so I wouldn’t look foolish when I did. Appearances were very important to her (they still are). So, there was no problem getting cigarettes; my parents bought them by the carton and shared them with me. Fast forward a bit here…..I continued to smoke until after I was married and pregnant with my first child. In 1975, they were beginning to be aware of the dangers of smoking and drinking while pregnant, so I quit both. Returned to both after my son was born in June, 1976 and stopped again in 1979 when I was pregnant again. I did not go back to smoking after my daughter was born in January, 1980. In 1982 or 1983 my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. He and my mom both quit cold turkey but at that point it was a little late. Although, my mom is still going strong today and is 85. Dad passed away in 1987, and his death is still very painful. In 1991 my husband was transferred to Europe and we lived in France and England until January, 1996 when we were transferred back to the San Francisco area. In 1994, my son passed away from a rare form of bacterial meningitis two months shy of his 18th birthday. Shortly after I started smoking again and began drinking very heavily. Long story a little shorter, I went to a rehab and got sober in 1997 but continued smoking. In 2001 I got pleurisy and I have never and I mean never felt anything more painful, including childbirth! That was when they discovered the emphysema. I didn’t pay much attention to the diagnosis and continued to smoke and made jokes about being short of breath – you know the kind where you say you better quit before your lungs get up and leave? You’d think I’d have known better having watched my father die slowly and in great pain. After my grandson was born in 2002 I promised I would quit smoking so that he could grow up knowing his grandma. I tried, I really did, but it wasn’t until late 2003 I finally did quit. It was harder to give up cigarettes than it was alcohol and I knew the cigarettes were killing me as fast as the alcohol had been. One day my daughter held the baby up to the patio door where I was outside smoking and said “is this what you want him to grow up seeing?” Ouch. Took a little bit longer, but I did it. Now I know that my grandson Anthony and the twins, Matthew and Layla will never see grandma drunk or lighting up. And hopefully, by doing all I’m supposed to do, I’ll slow this disease down enough to see them grow up. Thank you for letting me, share me, with you. |
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