Why I Smoked

Did I ever smoke?  DID I ever smoke!  Did I ever smoke!  Did I EVER SMOKE! 
Why?

Although there were several reasons, the most significant and ridiculous was I was my anger at Tom, my first college love. We had made a deal. If he would see a Dr. about the boil on his leg, I wouldn’t start smoking.  He didn’t, so I did. Thus with my very grown up 18-year-old logic, I paid him back.  He was so offended, he broke up with me.  Years later, I learned that he had also become a heavy smoker. 

And so began what became a thirteen year addiction.  I choked and coughed.  My throat was hot; my mouth tasted awful.  It seems like a sane person would immediately give up.  But I persisted.  I learned how to inhale and not cough. I became accomplished at it.  I soon learned how pleasurable smoking was.  What a faithful friend I had found. Was I frustrated?  Smoke a cigarette.  Was I lonely or sad or elated?  Smoke a cigarette.

For the next thirteen years, those little suckers were my constant companions.  No matter what else life presented, as long as I had the money, I could count on the comfort of my Pall Malls. Money wasn’t much of an issue.  In the 60’s, a carton cost less than $3.  That’s 10 packs.  That meant I was taken care of for 8-10 days.  Did I notice I was addicted?  Of course.  Did I care?  Not in the least.  Nor did I care that my habit was dirty, made others uncomfortable, and came before anything else.  Did I have a lovely sexual experience? Yes, but the best thing was that cigarette after.  Was I thrilled to be pregnant?  Absolutely ecstatic.  But I still smoked.  Was nursing my baby the most precious, sacred experience ever?  Yes, but I smoked my way through it.

And so it went for 13 years.  Gradually, I began to regret my habit.  My little girl made it clear she detested it.  My husband patiently said nothing, even after I dropped a lit one in the front seat of his car; even after I burned a hole in my winter coat while driving; even after I dropped a lit one on our friends’ couch one New Year’s Eve.  I was mortified by these accidents, but still I puffed on.

Our pretty white curtains became a light shade of brown.  The walls were dingy.  I always smelled bad. I began to regret this thing that owned me.  I prayed almost nightly to be free.  Next morning, I could hardly wait to have my first one. I switched to low nicotine brands.  I smoked more.  I remember the muscles in my cheeks aching as I struggled to get a good lung-full.

And then one day, when I least expected it, I smoked the last one.  I had gone next door to pick up my daughter and sat listening to my good friend and neighbor.  She was devastated by news that her beloved 56-year-old mother had been diagnosed with lung cancer.  I still remember hearing the news as I smoked yet another cigarette.  And deep inside, a little voice said, “You will never smoke another one.”  I finished the cigarette, smooshed it out in the ash tray, and never smoked again.  That was 44 years ago.

Those first months were agonizing.  If I hadn’t fully realized my addiction before, I sure knew it now.  My stomach hurt, I was grouchy and sluggish.  My family was afraid to ask me anything.  I gained weight, partly because of all the chocolate bars I ate to assuage my longing.  Nearly a year went by and one day an older friend at church, herself a reformed smoker, said she didn’t think I had really “decided” to quit, that I just went from day to day and didn’t smoke.  I took her seriously and in my heart I decided.  From then on, I felt better and better.  One night, driving alone down Grand Avenue in Lansing, Michigan, I shouted, “I am free!”  It was the greatest feeling in the world.  Many times since, I have thought if I can quit smoking, I can do anything.

I’ve learned that in life the things that bring suffering can serve as blessings, too.
So it has been with my smoking addiction.  I never felt that others should do what
I had done.  It was not my place to lecture or feel smug.  What happened to me was miraculous.  I couldn’t take any credit for it.  I always understood how hard it is to let go, how painful, how unsettling, how anxiety producing.  Being around other smokers never
tempted me.  I did feel sorry for them.  As it happened, most of my smoker friends quit in those next few years.  I was happy for them.

Years later, I became a hospital chaplain.  I encountered many smokers, both patients and staff.  Perhaps because of my chaplain’s listening role, many shared their concern and mixed emotions--knowing they should quit, but not wanting to either.  For some patients it was a matter of life or death.  My heart ached for those with lung disease, never able to take a deep cleansing breath, grabbing short breaths, feeling frantic and frightened.  Yet even then, some of them continued to smoke.  When it seemed appropriate, I shared my story.  I never knew if it helped anyone else quit.  I hope so.

There is a Crack in Everything

I have been stunned,violated, abused, bereft, inspired, hopeful, amazed, grateful. All these feelings and more have lived in me this week of painful revelations in my city--Lansing, Michigan. This city, dominated by Michigan State University, was my home for 50 years. This is where I taught school, was married, bore and raised a child, where I was involved in innumerable ways. This is the community I shared with my passionately dedicated writer/photographer husband for 40 years, sometimes feeling I came in second to his love for the community, the newspaper, his camera. This is where my husband, my sister, and my parents died and where my partner, Robert entered my life.
This week 150 young women screwed up their courage, came together and testified in court to the on-going molestations of a supposedly renowned doctor. 150 girls! Not only were they molested, but no one listened to their stories. Their agonies were ignored as though they didn’t exist, weren’t valuable human beings. The “renowned doctor” was believed, protected, enabled.
Trust has been broken. Hearts have been broken. Not only because of the truth, but because the “highly respected” leaders of a great university would not face the truth; cared more about protecting the school and their own reputations than about the destruction of young lives. And what has it led to? Rage. Shock. Disillusionment. Grief.
The athletic department of MSU is implicated. The School of Osteopathic Medicine is implicated. The school’s President of 13 years, who was highly respected (and highly paid), has resigned. The Board of Trustees’ role is questionable. An over-all investigation has been launched, a special prosecutor appointed.
So why did I add inspired, hopeful, amazed and grateful? Because these young women have connected, bonded, supported one another in a beautiful way. Because the judge, a woman, allowed, encouraged, and listened as each one told her story. Because the university students rallied around them, thanking them and cheering them on. Because maybe at last women are claiming their birth right, one that has eluded them for thousands of years. Because whatever humiliation, anger and grief Lansing has to suffer, maybe this city will come out the other side more honest, more compassionate, more whole. “There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” (Leonard Cohen)