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  •  Your mother loves you (0+ / 0-)

    Both my father and sister died directly from cigarettes, way, way too early.

    I remember when my Dad called me and told me had lung cancer.   He was 62.    He chose to take one course of chemotherapy, and then die in his home.  He told me in November, and by March, he was gone.     I took a leave of absence and put my living expenses on the credit card, while I lived with him and took care of him.  He slept with a revolver under his pillow, in case it got to be too much.   He was completely lucid to the end.  He was on oxygen, and asked for cigarettes.   My sister refused to give him one, but I did.   He had lung cancer.  What did it matter, now?    He was an engineer, and knew what happens when you mix oxygen and cigarettes.  He managed somehow not to burn the house down.   Near the end, when we made him food, he would complain that the metal spoon was too heavy to lift.  He was a strong man, who had worked hard all his life, and had the muscles to show for it.  And, he was too weak to lift a spoon.   In a matter of months, he went from a strong healthy man, to someone who had to have his diaper changed, and couldn't lift a spoon.   If he had not taken early retirement, he never would have enjoyed what he worked so hard for all his life.   He was basically healthy, and would have had perhaps another thirty years to live, if it hadn't been for cigarettes.

    My sister was fifty when she gave me her news.  Just six years older than me.   She went to the dentist and he found an unusual lump in her mouth.    After several treatments, the cancer moved to her lungs.  She met with the doctors, and they offered her palliative care.   He husband didn't even know what that meant.   But, her mother was a doctor, and she knew exactly what that meant.    She refused, and asked for radical treatment.   They removed her lower jaw and half of her throat, and rebuilt it using a bone from her leg.   She could no longer taste food, breathe through her nose, or eat through her mouth.  She had a stomach port, and a trach, and could no longer speak.  For a while, she used a laptop program to communicate.  Then she became too weak.   The stomach port extended her life, because she would have eventually stopped eating and died naturally, but the stomach port kept her going.     It was no blessing.  In fact, it was total hell.  She lost her lucidity, and drifted in an out on morphine.   She couldn't communicate.   The oral cancer returned, and her face was literally rotting.  There were holes in her face.   And, the lung cancer was progressing so that she could barely breathe even with the oxygen, and the trach.    She was only fifty.   Cigarettes probably robbed her of more than thirty years of her life, and put her through the worst torture imaginable.

    I could not bear to watch a child of mine go through this hell.

    Your mother was not punishing you.  

    She was trying to save your life.

    If you must smoke, smoke pot.  At least, it has cancer fighting properties.    Or try some herbs.  Valerian is helpful, and L-tryptophan, and Hylands calms forte.   Or, even see a doctor.   Diazepines are horribly addictive, but even they won't kill you as fast as cigarettes.   I don't begrudge you your simple pleasures, and I don't believe that your mother does, either, but I can't bear to see any living creature go through the horrible experiences that cigarettes have in store for you.

    Your mother has lived decades longer, and has probably seen some of what I've seen.   She doesn't want it to happen to you.    It's not even "maybe".  It's "how soon"?

    Could you watch a train rushing towards your daughter, while she stood in the middle of the trackes, apparently not noticing that a train was coming, without trying to get her attention?  That's what it feels like to watch someone you love smoke a cigarette.

    •  Then again . . . (0+ / 0-)

      I'm sure the right-wing-Evangelical-Christians feel the same way when they see me standing there, "unsaved".  They see the same train rushing towards me while I stand in the middle of the tracks, apparently not noticing that a train is coming.

      They often try to get my attention.  That is understandable.  They often wield faux concern to prove their supposed spiritual superiority over me.  That attention is not welcome.

      It sounds here like the parent was using a mixture of the two, regarding smoking.  I'm sure she does really care in some way, but she was also using it as a weapon, to shame and control.

      Wielding concern as a tool to subjugate, often causes people to resist any effort to help contained within the same gesture.    I know that when my parents bring up legitimate concerns about my health, but embed them within self-righteous control language, I am far less likely to listen.  It undermines their legitimate concerns.

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