Smoke and Mirrors

My mother was diagnosed the lung cancer a number of years ago. Seems hard to believe that you can put those words together in one sentence and then go on to say that she's still living. But she is. And I'm very, very grateful.

Easter Sunday, mom came to the house for an Easter Buffet (with the rest of our family). Mom wasn't feeling very well and said she had a touch of bronchitis. On Monday evening, my step-father called and said that mom had been taken to hospital because she had started coughing and could not get her breath. He said her oxygen levels were very low.

Tuesday morning I went to visit her. She was still in emergency because they didn't have a bed for her. While I was there, the lung specialist came in. He proceeded to give her royal what for because -- and this will be hard to believe but after 8 years with lung cancer -- my mother still smokes. Yeah. She smokes. Cigarettes. The very things that have given her a death sentence to begin with.

I found out two other very important things that morning.

1. My mother has COPD -- short for Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. It's cumulative and not curable. The most you can hope for is to slow it down and (sometimes) reverse its effects a little. The doctor said she could still live years with her cancer but she only had months with COPD if she continued to smoke.

2. My mother has been under the impression that she has lung cancer because cancer runs in her family. In her mind, cigarettes had nothing to do with it and she was going to get it any way. At least, that's what she told herself. I guess on some level it's easier to swallow than the knowledge that you signed your own death certificate.

We were all guilty of much the same thing. When mom was diagnosed with lung cancer, she made a good honest try to quit smoking. Then she slowly went back to it....pretty much with everyone's blessing. Our attitude was more of "Well, the damage is done now and she has so little else to look forward to and it's so hard to quit and and and and" so on and so on and so on. What none of us considered (or admitted to ourselves more like) was that she was speeding up the clock (or maybe running down the clock much quicker) by continuing to smoke.

She has quit. I threw away the cigarettes she had at the hospital. My step-father gave away the cigarettes she had at home and he cleaned and put away her ashtray. My brother (who usually picked up her cigarettes for her) has agreed that he will not do that any more.

She has quit. It may have been one of her joys in life and it may be the hardest thing for her to do. But I'm selfish. We're all selfish. Damn right I expect her to do it.

She has quit.

I'm not ready to say good-bye.