From your Guide to About.com Smoking Cessation, Terry Martin:
I feel fortunate to have met and helped Marlene share her story. Throat cancer is a horrible disease, and one that most smokers fear. I cannot imagine losing my voice, let alone going on to "speak" before groups of children, using my disease as a powerful example to help them avoid smoking. This is just what Marlene does today though, every chance she gets. She is a remarkable woman, and is nothing short of inspirational. I hope that her story touches you as it has me.
I am writing this story about my life as a smoker in hopes it will not only entertain whoever should read it, but maybe prevent someone from using tobacco or entice someone to quit using tobacco.
I tried my first cigarette at the age of 11. The preacher's son gave it to me behind the church, where a lot of us kids went after church services on Sunday morning. I was a bashful and timid girl, and just wanted to be included in the group. I did not actually start smoking then, full time that is. I would sneak one here and there with the other kids, but by the time I was 12, I was hooked.
Now that I've analyzed this I realize tobacco turned me into a sneak, a liar, and a thief, right off the bat. I'd sneak to catch a "drag" here and there, then I graduated to stealing cigarettes from anyone who happened to leave a pack around. When asked about it, I lied and said, "No, I haven't been smoking" and "No, I didn't take any cigarettes." I started stealing money to support my habit. I did it so I could hang out with the kids and be part of their group.
I moved in with my dad, step mom, and step sister when I was 12. My step sister, who was 10, took me to the backyard where a old trailer was sitting. She crawled under it and came out with her cigarette stash, a "stolen pack of daddy's cigarettes." That's when I really started to smoke. Stealing from my dad was easy. He never seemed to miss them, until one day when he caught me. I knew I was going to get the beating of my life; my dad had a bad temper when pushed to his wits end.
He ordered me into the house, where he sat me down at the dining room table. He made me roll 20 cigarettes from the old roll; your own "strong, stinking tobacco" with the papers, remember those? Does anyone still use that stuff? When I finished rolling them, he made me sit there and smoke every one of them. No supper, nothing to drink. I had to just sit there and smoke. Well, even a surprise to me today, I did it. It took me a few hours, but I did it. You see, I inherited his stubborn streak.
When I finished the last one, he said, "Well, you proved you can handle it, so you have my permission to smoke, but if I ever catch your sister smoking, I'll give you the beating that you thought you were going to get today." I got up from the table, feeling rather sick, went into the bedroom and told my sister, "If daddy ever catches you smoking, I'll beat you to death!"
I have since thought of that time and truly wish he would have give me the beating of my life instead of handling it like he did.
So,with my dad's permission to smoke, I smoked all the time and everywhere, except grandma's house. Forget the beating, she would have killed me.
Over the years, cigarettes caused a lot of turmoil in my life. Smoking put me in the hospital 3 times that I can remember. I had severe bronchitis and breathing problems. I was put on breathing machines and breathing medications several times. As soon as I would get to where I could breathe freely again, I would light up. Is that insane or what?
This went on for 39 years, at which time I was smoking 2-plus packs per day and still lying about it. I lied to the doctor that diagnosed me with cancer. "No doctor, I only smoke less than a pack a day." Lies, Lies, and more lies for 39 miserable years.
In 1996, I developed a sore throat that would not go away. I tried everything over the counter -- cold medicines, lozenges, throat sprays. Nothing worked.
I went to the doctor, who put me on one antibiotic after the other from October until December. Still, the sore throat wouldn't go away. Finally, he sent me to an oncological ear, nose and throat specialist, who ran a scope down my nose and throat. He saw something and suggested I go to the hospital and have a biopsy.
I had the biopsy on Thursday. After it was over, the doctor didn't stay to talk to me. Instead, he left instructions for me to go home, rest my voice, not to talk to anyone, and left a prescription for a rather strong pain medication. He told the nurse to instruct me to be in his office the next day at 5 p.m. I knew he did not take appointments that late in the day. I also knew you do not get pain medication like that, with refills unless something is really wrong. Also, I wondered, "Why can't I use my voice?" I knew the news was going to be bad.
I went home and waited for 5 p.m. Friday to come. I didn't talk to anyone. I just waited, and it seemed like a long time. When the time finally arrived for me to leave, I wanted to run in the opposite direction. I dreaded that trip to his office, but I went and he said right out, "You have cancer, and it's the worst kind; it spreads rapidly. I suggest we operate as soon as possible. I want to perform a complete laryngectomy on you. There's good news and bad news; the good is I think I can get it all. The bad... you will never talk again."I told him I'd get back with him on what I wanted to do.
Marlene's Surgery and Beyond
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