Pride

My maternal grandfather contracted emphysema after a lifetime of smoking. He was in his mid sixties and the doctors told him that while there was no cure, quitting smoking would without a doubt increase the length and quality of the time he had remaining.

Upon his return from the doctor he vowed to follow the doctors suggestion and attempt to eliminate smoking from his life. He boxed up his ashtrays and his lighter placing them in a far corner of the garage. Not knowing if he could resist temptation he asked my grandmother to go through the house and throw away any cigarettes she found. She had no problem with that as she had been after him to quit for years. Nana was nurse at the City of Hope and dealt with cigarette-damaged lungs on a daily basis.

Grandpa made good on his promise for almost a year. His lungs while still damaged began to function more efficiently. For him the biggest surprise was the return of his taste buds. For years he had been over seasoning his food because he could not longer taste it. After a few months away from tobacco he was able to once again distinguish flavors. His appetite improved and he actually put on a few pounds.

Than one evening disaster struck. While watching television some type of short circuit occurred and set caught fire. My grandfather's strength had yet to completely return and he could only manage one small pan filled with water at a time. While he was able to douse the flames before the fire departments arrival, he was not able to accept how weak he had become. His pride was shattered and that was the beginning of the end.

The next morning he went to the corner market and purchased a carton of cigarettes. When he returned home he sat at his workbench and contemplated his choices. In a short time his lighter and ashtrays were removed from the box and he began smoking again. Nothing anyone could say to him could get him to quit after that.

It was not long before he required oxygen just to get out of bed in the morning. He would sit in a chair in his room breathing from the tank until he was strong enough to dress. My grandmother then took the oxygen to the living room where he sat and breathed for a half hour or so. Once he felt up to it, he would sit out on the porch and have a smoke. Than it would be back on oxygen again until he could handle another cigarette.

This is how he finished his days, oxygen and tobacco, tobacco and oxygen. Until he fell into a coma which he never woke up from.

I often wonder how much more time he would have had with us if he had been able to keep away from the tobacco. He made the effort but his pride got in the way.