Hi all, My name is Melissa and I turned 29 a few days ago.
My story actually starts when I was 11 years old so, bear with me- it's a worth-wile story.
My parents were both smokers, and my grandparents, and aunts & uncles- Basically- everyone dear to me. I began sneaking a few smokes here and there from my parents when I was 11 years old- just experimenting. By the time I was 12 and in Jr High- it escalated to a pack here and there and I was no longer experimenting. I was diagnosed with asthma when I was 11 but the smoke didn't aggravate it until I was 13- However- I was also a swimmer- and loved it! Swimming was the only sport/ extra curricular school activity I was involved in- So devastation hit when it was time for me to enter High School @ 15 and my mother refused to let me try out for the swim team because my asthma had gotten so bad. She actually told me to try out for track instead so I would at least be on land if I had an attack (by the way- I NEVER had an attack in the water and I couldn't even run for 1 block solid!).
By the time I was in high school I was smoking 1 pack a day. Things were different where and when I went to school and we were allowed off campus- So my addiction was so bad that I had everything timed out- I smoke on the way to school, I could walk outside to get to 3 of my classes so I could smoke, and since we had off campus lunch- I wouldn't eat- my lunch consisted of as many cigarettes I could inhale in 30 minutes! I was already on as many medications as my mother was. The Albuterol, Serevent and Vanceril (which is a steroid by the way!). Just to breath. My parents quit trying to I was coughing up brown stuff from my lungs when I was 15! At this time my grandfather was diagnosed with empysema (I can't spell by the way!), So I began to watch him die in agony because he refused to give up his smokes for a lung transplant.
Time went on- I did quit for the 9 months that I was pregnant with my son. I was 16 and my mother didn't give me any options. But on the way to the hospital while I was in labor my mother handed me smokes and said go ahead! Therefore it was as if I had never quit. Once my son was 4 months old I was working 2 jobs and taking college classes 3 nights a week- I was also up to 2 packs a day.
By time I was 19, my lungs were in such bad shape that I feared catching a cold or getting sick because I had landed in the hospital every time that happened! I had a nebulizer at home and was regularly placed on prednisone. Plus- to add fuel to the fire- I was allergic to 90% of antibiotics on the market!
I met my husband when I was 21. We got married and combined our children into one big family when I was 23. We were both smokers and despite many attempts (together and apart) we failed each time to quit smoking! We tried everything! Hypnosis, patches, gum, prescriptions, some new magic shot..... nothing worked! Just after our 1st year anniversary I began to get pretty sick. First it was just bronchitis, but the meds didn't help. A few weeks later I was put on some more meds- but they failed as well. Finally over a month had passed and my doctor was unable to help me feel better- I felt so bad one evening that I went into an er. They diagnosed me then with walking pnemonia and sent home with even more meds. In the meantime I had arrangements all made to take my husband out of town for his Birthday, so despite him telling me we didn't need to go until I felt better, we went. The hour long drive presented some pain that I had never felt before- but I didn't want to ruin his birthday so I tried to ignore it. We went to dinner and the pain got worse, we decided to skip seeing any other sites and just head back to our hotel suite and soak in the pool. We entered the pool but I must say that it was the quickest pool trip ever for me! We went back to the room and filled the Jacuzzi with hot water and I took some pain meds. But by the time I sat in the jacuzzi for a few minutes the pain intensified so hugely that I could no longer bear it! I was crying and screaming and nothing I did would relieve the pain I felt in my chest and back. It was the middle of the night by then and my husband thought he could get me to a hospital faster than waiting on an ambulance- So he sped through the town running light after light with me screaming in the passenger seat.
We roared up to the ER and he helped me inside- there was no waiting or filling out any paperwork due to the look on my face. The nurses immediately began to pump morphine into me so I could at least speak. I was taken for a CT scan and the doctors told me I had Pluracy and Pnemonia so bad that they wanted to admit me right then. I refused! I begged them to give me meds to hold me over for the night and we would head home in the morning to a hospital in my own town- where my kids were and my parents could help.
I was finally feeling ok enough to actually sleep- so that's what I did until it was time to checkout and drive home. It did take some convincing because I am SOOOO stubborn- but later on that evening I finally admitted- I did need to be admitted into a hospital. Once I admitted that- events and time begin to blur. I do know I was able to get outside 2 times for smokes- but when that happened I couldn't tell you. (I suppose my husband and parents could give a much more descriptive account of the next week) When I finally woke up I had tubes coming out of several spots of my body, I couldn't move, and I had no idea what was going on. Everyone who entered my room had full gowns, gloves, and masks on. I was informed that I had contracted MRSA and that it was present inside my lungs. To make a long story a bit shorter- I was on a respirator to breath and almost didn't make it. I had slices into my back to relieve the acidic liquid building around my lungs and tubes protruding from my chest and back to drain the black infection from my right lung. All the viegns in both of my arms had collapsed from the needles so a central line had to be inserted into the main artery into my neck- I could feel the tube being threaded very close to my heart. Antibiotics were fed through this line- even once I went home I still had to feed them though it myself. I was 24 years old- I had more than a week of my life taken away from me that I can not remember- I have horror stories from my parents and my husband about what actually happened and my time in ICU and what the doctors told them. If I had been older I would've died. They say the cigarettes weakened my lung tissue and fueled the infection to the point that I almost died and my age was the only thing that was on my side. Had I been an older person, doctors would not have done the life saving things they had to do for me- and normally- progression like I had only happens to older smokers- way older!
So I was done.
But my husband wasn't. He did sacrifice, only smoking in the garage and not ever around me- but still.... even though the smell made me queezy, and I knew how sick it had made me... I still wanted it. I stayed away from gas stations and places they were sold- but that still didn't change the fact that there was ALWAYS a pack right there in my home- in my husbands coat pocket. A month and a half after I was released- I cracked.
It's been 4 years since that happened. I was smoking 2 1/2 packs a day. I was diagnosed with COPD. I was on many different meds- just to breathe... and smoke. I have been warned time and time again, that I will be dead within 5 years if I continue to smoke. 5 years. that's not enough time. Not enough time to see my children graduate, or fall in love, or have babies of their own, or even to complete my own family!
We have 5 children. Carrie (my stepdaughter) is 17, Ariel (my husbands daughter whom I adopted) is 13, Jacob is 11, Melyssa (my husbands daughter whom I adopted) is 11 and Connor (our newest little miracle) is 3. And they all need us. Me. And I need to do everything that I have control over to be here for them as long as God allows me to. I refuse to be an aid in my own death. But I need help! LOTS of it!
We Quit on November 30th, 2008. And I pray it's the last time I change my quit date!
I think about it constantly. I have gained 9 pounds. I am crabby! But I can do it!
My story actually starts when I was 11 years old so, bear with me- it's a worth-wile story.
My parents were both smokers, and my grandparents, and aunts & uncles- Basically- everyone dear to me. I began sneaking a few smokes here and there from my parents when I was 11 years old- just experimenting. By the time I was 12 and in Jr High- it escalated to a pack here and there and I was no longer experimenting. I was diagnosed with asthma when I was 11 but the smoke didn't aggravate it until I was 13- However- I was also a swimmer- and loved it! Swimming was the only sport/ extra curricular school activity I was involved in- So devastation hit when it was time for me to enter High School @ 15 and my mother refused to let me try out for the swim team because my asthma had gotten so bad. She actually told me to try out for track instead so I would at least be on land if I had an attack (by the way- I NEVER had an attack in the water and I couldn't even run for 1 block solid!).
By the time I was in high school I was smoking 1 pack a day. Things were different where and when I went to school and we were allowed off campus- So my addiction was so bad that I had everything timed out- I smoke on the way to school, I could walk outside to get to 3 of my classes so I could smoke, and since we had off campus lunch- I wouldn't eat- my lunch consisted of as many cigarettes I could inhale in 30 minutes! I was already on as many medications as my mother was. The Albuterol, Serevent and Vanceril (which is a steroid by the way!). Just to breath. My parents quit trying to I was coughing up brown stuff from my lungs when I was 15! At this time my grandfather was diagnosed with empysema (I can't spell by the way!), So I began to watch him die in agony because he refused to give up his smokes for a lung transplant.
Time went on- I did quit for the 9 months that I was pregnant with my son. I was 16 and my mother didn't give me any options. But on the way to the hospital while I was in labor my mother handed me smokes and said go ahead! Therefore it was as if I had never quit. Once my son was 4 months old I was working 2 jobs and taking college classes 3 nights a week- I was also up to 2 packs a day.
By time I was 19, my lungs were in such bad shape that I feared catching a cold or getting sick because I had landed in the hospital every time that happened! I had a nebulizer at home and was regularly placed on prednisone. Plus- to add fuel to the fire- I was allergic to 90% of antibiotics on the market!
I met my husband when I was 21. We got married and combined our children into one big family when I was 23. We were both smokers and despite many attempts (together and apart) we failed each time to quit smoking! We tried everything! Hypnosis, patches, gum, prescriptions, some new magic shot..... nothing worked! Just after our 1st year anniversary I began to get pretty sick. First it was just bronchitis, but the meds didn't help. A few weeks later I was put on some more meds- but they failed as well. Finally over a month had passed and my doctor was unable to help me feel better- I felt so bad one evening that I went into an er. They diagnosed me then with walking pnemonia and sent home with even more meds. In the meantime I had arrangements all made to take my husband out of town for his Birthday, so despite him telling me we didn't need to go until I felt better, we went. The hour long drive presented some pain that I had never felt before- but I didn't want to ruin his birthday so I tried to ignore it. We went to dinner and the pain got worse, we decided to skip seeing any other sites and just head back to our hotel suite and soak in the pool. We entered the pool but I must say that it was the quickest pool trip ever for me! We went back to the room and filled the Jacuzzi with hot water and I took some pain meds. But by the time I sat in the jacuzzi for a few minutes the pain intensified so hugely that I could no longer bear it! I was crying and screaming and nothing I did would relieve the pain I felt in my chest and back. It was the middle of the night by then and my husband thought he could get me to a hospital faster than waiting on an ambulance- So he sped through the town running light after light with me screaming in the passenger seat.
We roared up to the ER and he helped me inside- there was no waiting or filling out any paperwork due to the look on my face. The nurses immediately began to pump morphine into me so I could at least speak. I was taken for a CT scan and the doctors told me I had Pluracy and Pnemonia so bad that they wanted to admit me right then. I refused! I begged them to give me meds to hold me over for the night and we would head home in the morning to a hospital in my own town- where my kids were and my parents could help.
I was finally feeling ok enough to actually sleep- so that's what I did until it was time to checkout and drive home. It did take some convincing because I am SOOOO stubborn- but later on that evening I finally admitted- I did need to be admitted into a hospital. Once I admitted that- events and time begin to blur. I do know I was able to get outside 2 times for smokes- but when that happened I couldn't tell you. (I suppose my husband and parents could give a much more descriptive account of the next week) When I finally woke up I had tubes coming out of several spots of my body, I couldn't move, and I had no idea what was going on. Everyone who entered my room had full gowns, gloves, and masks on. I was informed that I had contracted MRSA and that it was present inside my lungs. To make a long story a bit shorter- I was on a respirator to breath and almost didn't make it. I had slices into my back to relieve the acidic liquid building around my lungs and tubes protruding from my chest and back to drain the black infection from my right lung. All the viegns in both of my arms had collapsed from the needles so a central line had to be inserted into the main artery into my neck- I could feel the tube being threaded very close to my heart. Antibiotics were fed through this line- even once I went home I still had to feed them though it myself. I was 24 years old- I had more than a week of my life taken away from me that I can not remember- I have horror stories from my parents and my husband about what actually happened and my time in ICU and what the doctors told them. If I had been older I would've died. They say the cigarettes weakened my lung tissue and fueled the infection to the point that I almost died and my age was the only thing that was on my side. Had I been an older person, doctors would not have done the life saving things they had to do for me- and normally- progression like I had only happens to older smokers- way older!
So I was done.
But my husband wasn't. He did sacrifice, only smoking in the garage and not ever around me- but still.... even though the smell made me queezy, and I knew how sick it had made me... I still wanted it. I stayed away from gas stations and places they were sold- but that still didn't change the fact that there was ALWAYS a pack right there in my home- in my husbands coat pocket. A month and a half after I was released- I cracked.
It's been 4 years since that happened. I was smoking 2 1/2 packs a day. I was diagnosed with COPD. I was on many different meds- just to breathe... and smoke. I have been warned time and time again, that I will be dead within 5 years if I continue to smoke. 5 years. that's not enough time. Not enough time to see my children graduate, or fall in love, or have babies of their own, or even to complete my own family!
We have 5 children. Carrie (my stepdaughter) is 17, Ariel (my husbands daughter whom I adopted) is 13, Jacob is 11, Melyssa (my husbands daughter whom I adopted) is 11 and Connor (our newest little miracle) is 3. And they all need us. Me. And I need to do everything that I have control over to be here for them as long as God allows me to. I refuse to be an aid in my own death. But I need help! LOTS of it!
We Quit on November 30th, 2008. And I pray it's the last time I change my quit date!
I think about it constantly. I have gained 9 pounds. I am crabby! But I can do it!
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