PART TWO--SMOKING

The doctor told me that he found over 100 gallstones in me, saying it looked like I had been shot with a shot gun. When he had to cut into my bowel to fetch wayward stones , it caused a serious infection along with a paralyzed bowel. Things were not going well and my doctor list kept growing as consultations became necessary. My odds had slipped below 50%.

After many days of Demoral making my life a tolerable blur, I was told they would have to operate again to clean out the infected tissue. The second surgery hurt much more than the first. My friend Demoral stayed by my side.


One interesting thing happened while I was floating from one shot to another. I had a famous person move into the room next to mine. George Hamilton was admitted with hepatitis. Just two by fours and wall board between us in our hospital nighties. Whee. While he was there, it was hard to get any attention for "my needs" from the nursing staff. They were all smitten and would walk right past my red "help me, I need to pee" flashing light straight to his room . My own visitor load picked up dramatically while he was my neighbor.

George left the hospital before I did( I was beginning to feel like a permanent resident) so I dragged my IV stand to the doorway to watch him leave. Nurses and patients lined the halls to watch. When he came out of his room, I was impressed. While he was quite haggard looking with a scruffy beard and bed hair, I thought he looked the best I had ever seen him--- romantically ill and rugged. No longer the immaculately put together "tan man." It was a great look for him. Have to admire anyone who can look great when they feel like crap.


Finally on my 21st day in the hospital, I was taken off the Demoral. I was terrified that I had replaced one addiction for another but strangely, I never missed my friendly shot every 4 hours. The beauty was that I no longer even thought about a cigarette. The nicotine addiction was gone. I have never again wanted one. Only on occasion I will dream I have started smoking again and I am furious with myself. I know the chances of me getting, or even wanting, another 21 day drug ride today are pretty remote.

Those of you who fought the good battle without drugs are allowed to hate me. I felt your pain Sis and I apologize for having such an easy time ( if you don't count the grinding pain, the nausea, the fever and not getting to eat solid food or drink water for three weeks.) I left the hospital a whopping 92 pounds with a perfect six o'clock figure. Only bulge on me was my bandage. We might be even in cost vs result.


When they removed my stitches however on day 21, we were all shocked. My incision fell open. The two slabs of muscle that had been severed by the scalpel, were not attached but yawned like a mini grand canyon. Not a pretty sight. I was offered yet another surgery which I refused. I chose plan B to let the wound heal on its own, hopefully from the inside out. My life had been put on hold long enough, I wanted out of Cloroxville.


For the next forever, I visited the doctor a couple times a week as an out patient. He would pull out an orange stick and proceed to stab at my rambling incision to break up any attempts of my body to heal from the outside in. This was not a fun time. I had to wear a belly binder over my bandage to encourage the muscles to join together again. My surgery was in late August. I didn't get to take my first shower till right before Thanksgiving when I was finally water tight. Today , my stomach is a pretty gnarly looking mess. My bikini days were over.


Now that cigarettes and smokers have become such a curse. I thank God I was so sick back then. With my old habit and the current price of cigarettes it would cost me almost $90.00 a week, $360.00 a month, $4320.00 a year to smoke. How do the poor do it? I would have to be a greeter at Walmart as Social Security would never cover that and allow me to eat too. Besides, had I continued, I would most likely not be pecking away at my computer right now. I am a cancer survivor and I am pretty sure had I continued smoking, you could scratch that "survivor" part from my title.


While today my breath catches in my throat and breathing is difficult when around a smoker, I have the greatest empathy for them. It is one tough momma of a thing to quit and the poor souls are constantly badgered about a habit that until you experience it, you can't understand. It is an evil thing.


Have you ever been victim of the curse of tobacco, always been free of the curse, finally free of the curse, or still cursing the curse?