The Great American Choke
I stopped smoking when it became a bore in the late 70s. It became less fashionable, cost an incredible amount of money to me, and I really wasn’t as addicted as so many others.
Then I had lymphocytic sarcoma twice, two mastectomies, radiation, and,chemotherapy. Recently, the sarcoid specialists invaded my chest in a speculative move installing and subsequently removing an ICD that I had warned them my body would reject. This incident caused some additional and permanent damage to my chest.
Needless to say, I’m super-sensitive to cigarette smoke. My throat hurts, I cough, my chest feels very heavy, and my headaches are monumental. No one should smoke around me ever. Anyone smoking within 20 feet of me causes health issues.
Anyone who has been smoking generally reeks enough to be extremely disconcerting. It’s disconcerting enough to keep me awake far too long at night.
Yesterday Tigger spent too much time with the ex. The house was roiling in second and third hand smoke because that was what they were unabashedly doing. Tigger smoked in the bathroom. It nearly took my breath entirely. I really wanted to just out and out die.
Sadly, he knows he has an addiction. He cares how it works with me; he really does. But he can’t help it, especially when he spends that much time with her, who is hardcore.
He pretends to cover it up, but he also knows I’m not stupid. I am bloody aware. I just don’t say anything. There’s no point.
Instead I come here and vent.