Like an alcoholic or any other addict, you have to make that decision for yourself and really, truly mean it. So my intent is not to talk you into it or shame you for not; just share the perspective of living with a loved one who smoked. It's about my journey; not hers.
My late wife was a smoker from high school. Back in high school -- when it was still the fashionable thing, that all the movie stars did in the films -- she tried to get me started as well, but it wasn't for me. I tolerated it; not having a sense of smell helped, I guess.
When the health risks started becoming more public, she understood the risks, moderated somewhat, said she wasn't ready to quit quit yet but intended to at some point; and I accepted that.
Her attitude was shaped probably by her personality and approach to cancer in general. She knew genetically she was predisposed to cancer. When she discovered a lump in her breast, her reaction was to say how relieved she was. Now that it was here, she could deal with it. And it took a mastectomy, and chemotherapy, but she beat breast cancer. What neither of us fully appreciated at the time is that the damage smoking does to the lungs doesn't heal when you quit. And a lung is not as easy to carve off.
I'm not sure what finally made her decide she was ready to quit. We planned a trip Downunder, and she claimed it was the thought of a 17-hour flight without a smoke was the deciding point. I suspect that became the tipping point; the internal sales job to herself. She had just finally reached the point where she was ready. She quit cold turkey. She wasn't much for body jewelry, but she loved jewelry to be worn on clothes. So I gave her a broach or a pin of some sort for every mile stone: every day for the first week, then weekly, then monthly that first 6 months or so in support of her effort. And once she had decided it was time, like everything else in life, she stuck to it, never waivered, and never looked back.
I'll never forget the day she had the bronchoscopy and the pulmonologist gave her the death sentence. The lung cancer was too disperse for radiation and too close to vital organs for surgery. The only treatment would be more chemo, and it would only be a delaying tactic. And the doctor began to cry, and she began comforting him. He said, this is wrong; it is supposed to be the other way around!
At the start of her third round of chemo, she said that was enough and she was ready for home hospice. There had been several items on her bucket list which she got to complete, except for the final one of a last family Thanksgiving together. I lost my soul mate of 57 years just short of that early Thanksgiving and our 43rd Anniversary.
I still ask myself was I being supportive recognizing that it had to be her decision, or was I a co-dependent enabler?
