OT No more cigarettes

WOW

--
Debbie (New Mexico)
Life is too short
"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
.com...
On Tue, 18 May 2004 20:57:48 -0400, Karleen/Vibrant Jewels wrote
(in message .net):

Thanks Mavis, I'll add these thoughts to my list... my son, his
girlfriend
and my daughter's boyfriend all smoke, and I'm gonna print this out for
them.


Karleen,

Please pass along this message to them for me:

I spend every moment of my life fighting for breath, because I was born
with
not-so-great lungs. I've been hospitalized more times than I can count,
and
spent more than my fair share of time in the respiratory ICU. Every bed
around me was occupied by a smoker who was dying of lung cancer.

I was the only person there who wasn't leaving in a box. I was also one of
the only people who wasn't sedated constantly, and got to see everything
that
happened there. It's not at all what you'd think. It's bright, because
the
lights are always on, and usually it's very, very quiet. Except for the
quiet clicks and gasps, and the whoosh of oxygen. In spite of what people
say, after a few minutes you don't even notice "the hospital smell."

The gasping gets to you, and so does the clicking. Respirators click as
they
move air in and out of your lungs. If the patients are relatively well,
or
have decided to "die with dignity," you hear gasps and rattles as they
choke.
If not, they get intubated, and the respirator clicks until it's turned
off,
once the person is dead. You're surrounded by gasping and clicking, all
the
time, and it only changes during visiting hours.

I dreaded visiting hours, even though I knew I'd have visitors every day.
The hardest part was hearing the families of all the other patients,
saying
goodbye, begging their loved ones to pull out of it just one more time,
hoping for a miracle that wasn't going to come. It never worked. All
night
long, patients would "code," the curtains would be drawn, and another
patient
would come and fill the empty bed.

All of those people started smoking when they were young, and it was just
now
that the bill for all those cigarettes came due. What they never knew is
that it's not the smoker paying - it's the people who love them. They're
the
ones that live with the torture of seeing someone they love die in pain,
stripped of dignity and terrified from the loss of control caused by the
ventilator, or gasping for breath, which isn't a whole lot better.

Thank God, the family never sees the worst of it. They don't see a nurse
digging around in someone's arm for an hour, trying to get an arterial
blood
gas. They don't see how tough it is to get a tube down someone's throat
to
inflate their lungs, or the blood the person coughs up afterward. It's
painful, disgusting and dehumanizing. The staff is hardened to seeing it,
because that's the only way to care for patients who will never survive
without going insane.

Please quit, now. Not because you're afraid of dying. You know and I
know
that if you do get lung cancer, it's decades away. Those old people have
nothing in common with you. Or so you think. Time has a way of sneaking
up
on you, and fifteen turns into forty before you can blink your eyes.
People
grow up, have families, and if they're lucky, grow old with the people
they
care about.

You know how quickly a summer vacation goes by? - In June, all those
months
are stretched before you, golden and endless and full of promise. You
have
the time to do everything you ever wanted. The next minute, it's
September,
and you're back walking those halls in school. Days might be long, but
the
years go by in the blink of an eye.

Someday, before you even realize it, you'll be done with school and on
your
own, you might have kids, and if you're blessed, a loving spouse who will
walk with you until you leave this life. You don't want to be the one in
the
bed, with all the people who mean everything to you, listening to them beg
you to try just one more time. And you really, really don't want to hear
the
pain in their voices, take my word for it.

Thanks for reading this. I know you don't have to, and I appreciate your
giving me a few minutes of your life. I hope I can give them back to you.

Kathy N-V



---
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On Wed, 19 May 2004 01:10:01 +0000, Linda2 wrote:

The Nicotrol package says not to wear the nicotine patch to bed as it may
cause "vivid dreams and/or other sleep disturbances." I forgot to remove it
last night, and dreamed that Brad Pitt was my boyfriend.

I think I'll leave it on tonight,too, and shoot for Antonio Banderas.

Linda2

Oh cool.... lol Can I have one too? I don't smoke tho

Mavis

The Nicotrol package says not to wear the nicotine patch to bed as it may
cause "vivid dreams and/or other sleep disturbances." I forgot to remove it
last night, and dreamed that Brad Pitt was my boyfriend.

I think I'll leave it on tonight,too, and shoot for Antonio Banderas.

Whoa! :-D
~~
Sooz
-------
"Those in the cheaper seats clap. The rest of you rattle your jewelry." John
Lennon (1940 - 1980) Royal Varieties Performance
~ Dr. Sooz's Bead Links
http://airandearth.netfirms.com/soozlinkslist.html

Thanks, Kathy, this is powerful. I'll forward it to them.
--
Karleen Page/Vibrant Jewels
Vibrant Jewels Online Bead & Jewelry Store
http://www.vibrantjewels.com/jewelry/welcome.htm
JustBead Auctions
http://www.justbeads.com/search/ql.cfm?s=21770
PayPal Merchant Account
https://www.paypal.com/mrb/pal=7XJ98L86Z7S2C
"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
.com...
On Tue, 18 May 2004 20:57:48 -0400, Karleen/Vibrant Jewels wrote
(in message .net):

Thanks Mavis, I'll add these thoughts to my list... my son, his
girlfriend
and my daughter's boyfriend all smoke, and I'm gonna print this out for
them.


Karleen,

Please pass along this message to them for me:

I spend every moment of my life fighting for breath, because I was born
with
not-so-great lungs. I've been hospitalized more times than I can count,
and
spent more than my fair share of time in the respiratory ICU. Every bed
around me was occupied by a smoker who was dying of lung cancer.

I was the only person there who wasn't leaving in a box. I was also one of
the only people who wasn't sedated constantly, and got to see everything
that
happened there. It's not at all what you'd think. It's bright, because
the
lights are always on, and usually it's very, very quiet. Except for the
quiet clicks and gasps, and the whoosh of oxygen. In spite of what people
say, after a few minutes you don't even notice "the hospital smell."

The gasping gets to you, and so does the clicking. Respirators click as
they
move air in and out of your lungs. If the patients are relatively well,
or
have decided to "die with dignity," you hear gasps and rattles as they
choke.
If not, they get intubated, and the respirator clicks until it's turned
off,
once the person is dead. You're surrounded by gasping and clicking, all
the
time, and it only changes during visiting hours.

I dreaded visiting hours, even though I knew I'd have visitors every day.
The hardest part was hearing the families of all the other patients,
saying
goodbye, begging their loved ones to pull out of it just one more time,
hoping for a miracle that wasn't going to come. It never worked. All
night
long, patients would "code," the curtains would be drawn, and another
patient
would come and fill the empty bed.

All of those people started smoking when they were young, and it was just
now
that the bill for all those cigarettes came due. What they never knew is
that it's not the smoker paying - it's the people who love them. They're
the
ones that live with the torture of seeing someone they love die in pain,
stripped of dignity and terrified from the loss of control caused by the
ventilator, or gasping for breath, which isn't a whole lot better.

Thank God, the family never sees the worst of it. They don't see a nurse
digging around in someone's arm for an hour, trying to get an arterial
blood
gas. They don't see how tough it is to get a tube down someone's throat
to
inflate their lungs, or the blood the person coughs up afterward. It's
painful, disgusting and dehumanizing. The staff is hardened to seeing it,
because that's the only way to care for patients who will never survive
without going insane.

Please quit, now. Not because you're afraid of dying. You know and I
know
that if you do get lung cancer, it's decades away. Those old people have
nothing in common with you. Or so you think. Time has a way of sneaking
up
on you, and fifteen turns into forty before you can blink your eyes.
People
grow up, have families, and if they're lucky, grow old with the people
they
care about.

You know how quickly a summer vacation goes by? - In June, all those
months
are stretched before you, golden and endless and full of promise. You
have
the time to do everything you ever wanted. The next minute, it's
September,
and you're back walking those halls in school. Days might be long, but
the
years go by in the blink of an eye.

Someday, before you even realize it, you'll be done with school and on
your
own, you might have kids, and if you're blessed, a loving spouse who will
walk with you until you leave this life. You don't want to be the one in
the
bed, with all the people who mean everything to you, listening to them beg
you to try just one more time. And you really, really don't want to hear
the
pain in their voices, take my word for it.

Thanks for reading this. I know you don't have to, and I appreciate your
giving me a few minutes of your life. I hope I can give them back to you.

Kathy N-V

I, too, watched my dad die a little each day, struggling to breathe. My
lungs would ache every time I visited him because I would strain to try to
help him breathe. He began smoking Lucky Strikes behind the barn when he was
8 years old. He stopped 3 years before he died. He didn't stop soon enough.
--
Karleen Page/Vibrant Jewels
Vibrant Jewels Online Bead & Jewelry Store
http://www.vibrantjewels.com/jewelry/welcome.htm
JustBead Auctions
http://www.justbeads.com/search/ql.cfm?s=21770
PayPal Merchant Account
https://www.paypal.com/mrb/pal=7XJ98L86Z7S2C
"starlia" wrote in message
...
I have to say that I'm one of those people who watched the two people who
raised me die because of their smoking habits. My grandfather went first
to
lung cancer and drinking. He was out of the operation when he went into
detox and died. My grandmother had suffered since I was young with
emphysema and was on a respirator in her later days. It broke my heart
letting my parents go to something that literally tears your insides
apart.
My mother also had emphysema before her death. All three of my parents
were
smokers for many, many years. My mother and grandfather never quit. My
grandmother quit in my pre-teen years because the doctor said she'd never
see me to my adulthood if she didn't. Thankfully she was there for me
until
23.

I know it's hard but please try to remember these stories when you are
having a hard day. I miss my grandparents so much and not a day goes by
that I my heart doesn't ache to have them back. They were taken too early
in my life and I still need them.

Starlia

--
Starlia Klopman
www.klopmanstudios.com


"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
.com...
On Tue, 18 May 2004 20:57:48 -0400, Karleen/Vibrant Jewels wrote
(in message .net):

Thanks Mavis, I'll add these thoughts to my list... my son, his
girlfriend
and my daughter's boyfriend all smoke, and I'm gonna print this out
for
them.


Karleen,

Please pass along this message to them for me:

I spend every moment of my life fighting for breath, because I was born
with
not-so-great lungs. I've been hospitalized more times than I can count,
and
spent more than my fair share of time in the respiratory ICU. Every bed
around me was occupied by a smoker who was dying of lung cancer.

I was the only person there who wasn't leaving in a box. I was also one
of
the only people who wasn't sedated constantly, and got to see everything
that
happened there. It's not at all what you'd think. It's bright, because
the
lights are always on, and usually it's very, very quiet. Except for the
quiet clicks and gasps, and the whoosh of oxygen. In spite of what
people
say, after a few minutes you don't even notice "the hospital smell."

The gasping gets to you, and so does the clicking. Respirators click as
they
move air in and out of your lungs. If the patients are relatively well,
or
have decided to "die with dignity," you hear gasps and rattles as they
choke.
If not, they get intubated, and the respirator clicks until it's turned
off,
once the person is dead. You're surrounded by gasping and clicking, all
the
time, and it only changes during visiting hours.

I dreaded visiting hours, even though I knew I'd have visitors every
day.
The hardest part was hearing the families of all the other patients,
saying
goodbye, begging their loved ones to pull out of it just one more time,
hoping for a miracle that wasn't going to come. It never worked. All
night
long, patients would "code," the curtains would be drawn, and another
patient
would come and fill the empty bed.

All of those people started smoking when they were young, and it was
just
now
that the bill for all those cigarettes came due. What they never knew
is
that it's not the smoker paying - it's the people who love them.
They're
the
ones that live with the torture of seeing someone they love die in pain,
stripped of dignity and terrified from the loss of control caused by the
ventilator, or gasping for breath, which isn't a whole lot better.

Thank God, the family never sees the worst of it. They don't see a
nurse
digging around in someone's arm for an hour, trying to get an arterial
blood
gas. They don't see how tough it is to get a tube down someone's throat
to
inflate their lungs, or the blood the person coughs up afterward. It's
painful, disgusting and dehumanizing. The staff is hardened to seeing
it,
because that's the only way to care for patients who will never survive
without going insane.

Please quit, now. Not because you're afraid of dying. You know and I
know
that if you do get lung cancer, it's decades away. Those old people
have
nothing in common with you. Or so you think. Time has a way of
sneaking
up
on you, and fifteen turns into forty before you can blink your eyes.
People
grow up, have families, and if they're lucky, grow old with the people
they
care about.

You know how quickly a summer vacation goes by? - In June, all those
months
are stretched before you, golden and endless and full of promise. You
have
the time to do everything you ever wanted. The next minute, it's
September,
and you're back walking those halls in school. Days might be long, but
the
years go by in the blink of an eye.

Someday, before you even realize it, you'll be done with school and on
your
own, you might have kids, and if you're blessed, a loving spouse who
will
walk with you until you leave this life. You don't want to be the one
in
the
bed, with all the people who mean everything to you, listening to them
beg
you to try just one more time. And you really, really don't want to hear
the
pain in their voices, take my word for it.

Thanks for reading this. I know you don't have to, and I appreciate
your
giving me a few minutes of your life. I hope I can give them back to
you.

Kathy N-V

GO LINDA!!!!!!

This will be so good for you! You have my 1000000000% support!

Kathy K
"Linda2" wrote in message
hlink.net...
I know I said I was going to quit last year, but I wan't ready to give up
my
habit.

This morning I took my last cigarette, broke it in half and threw it away.
I
am wearing a Nicotrol patch and have not had a cigarette since 8:30 am.
I'm
chewing sugar-free gum and trying hard to keep my mind off of having a
smoke.

It won't be easy. I've smoked for almost 40 years. But I can't breathe
normally anymore (I'm sure the reaction to those paint fumes at my former
job triggered something). Just a few steps and I'm gasping for breath.

Went out this morning and kept busy, but upon re-entering my apartment, I
was staggered by the reek of smoke. Emptied all ashtrays, sprayed them
with
orangey cleaning spray. I'll probably have to wash all my clothes and
spray
the furniture with some sort of freshener.

I refuse to substitute food for cigarettes. I bought a lot of bottled
water
and will have a swig everytime I want a smoke. Ought to help wash the
toxins
out of my body. Also bought sugar-free gum.

I'm going to do it this time. I have to. I *have* to. I can't breathe. Any
supportive vibes that can be sent would be greatly appreciated. Any
non-smokers who have some helpful hints on overcoming the urge, please
share
them with me in private e-mail. ariel at gate dot net

Linda2




--
When love is your greatest weakness, you will be the strongest person in
the
world.
--Garman Wold

wow. What a powerful message. After seeing a friend and my Mom go through
the horrors of dying of lung cancer and having a friend's Dad die of throat
cancer I am always grateful to hear that someone is quitting smoking.

Kathy K
"Kathy N-V" wrote in
Please pass along this message to them for me:

I spend every moment of my life fighting for breath, because I was born
with
not-so-great lungs. I've been hospitalized more times than I can count,
and
spent more than my fair share of time in the respiratory ICU. Every bed
around me was occupied by a smoker who was dying of lung cancer.

I was the only person there who wasn't leaving in a box. I was also one of
the only people who wasn't sedated constantly, and got to see everything
that
happened there. It's not at all what you'd think. It's bright, because
the
lights are always on, and usually it's very, very quiet. Except for the
quiet clicks and gasps, and the whoosh of oxygen. In spite of what people
say, after a few minutes you don't even notice "the hospital smell."

The gasping gets to you, and so does the clicking. Respirators click as
they
move air in and out of your lungs. If the patients are relatively well,
or
have decided to "die with dignity," you hear gasps and rattles as they
choke.
If not, they get intubated, and the respirator clicks until it's turned
off,
once the person is dead. You're surrounded by gasping and clicking, all
the
time, and it only changes during visiting hours.

I dreaded visiting hours, even though I knew I'd have visitors every day.
The hardest part was hearing the families of all the other patients,
saying
goodbye, begging their loved ones to pull out of it just one more time,
hoping for a miracle that wasn't going to come. It never worked. All
night
long, patients would "code," the curtains would be drawn, and another
patient
would come and fill the empty bed.

All of those people started smoking when they were young, and it was just
now
that the bill for all those cigarettes came due. What they never knew is
that it's not the smoker paying - it's the people who love them. They're
the
ones that live with the torture of seeing someone they love die in pain,
stripped of dignity and terrified from the loss of control caused by the
ventilator, or gasping for breath, which isn't a whole lot better.

Thank God, the family never sees the worst of it. They don't see a nurse
digging around in someone's arm for an hour, trying to get an arterial
blood
gas. They don't see how tough it is to get a tube down someone's throat
to
inflate their lungs, or the blood the person coughs up afterward. It's
painful, disgusting and dehumanizing. The staff is hardened to seeing it,
because that's the only way to care for patients who will never survive
without going insane.

Please quit, now. Not because you're afraid of dying. You know and I
know
that if you do get lung cancer, it's decades away. Those old people have
nothing in common with you. Or so you think. Time has a way of sneaking
up
on you, and fifteen turns into forty before you can blink your eyes.
People
grow up, have families, and if they're lucky, grow old with the people
they
care about.

You know how quickly a summer vacation goes by? - In June, all those
months
are stretched before you, golden and endless and full of promise. You
have
the time to do everything you ever wanted. The next minute, it's
September,
and you're back walking those halls in school. Days might be long, but
the
years go by in the blink of an eye.

Someday, before you even realize it, you'll be done with school and on
your
own, you might have kids, and if you're blessed, a loving spouse who will
walk with you until you leave this life. You don't want to be the one in
the
bed, with all the people who mean everything to you, listening to them beg
you to try just one more time. And you really, really don't want to hear
the
pain in their voices, take my word for it.

Thanks for reading this. I know you don't have to, and I appreciate your
giving me a few minutes of your life. I hope I can give them back to you.

Kathy N-V