Death of a Smoker
I met Jean two years ago. She was an inactive member of my church. Our missionaries had found her by knocking on doors. They asked me to visit her because her health was not good, she lived alone and she had many personal problems. They felt she needed a friend.
I went to visit her and even though she let me in, she was not very friendly. Her personality appeared to be one of pride, but I discovered, her curtness was more of a cover-up to protect her addiction to cigarettes. Apparently, in the past, many people had told her she should quit smoking, including her doctors. For example, before I came on the scene, she had demanded a lady, from our church, to leave her home for making that suggestion.
She was on the defensive because she didn't want to quit smoking. She had smoked since she was 14 years old and now she was 70. I asked her why she smoked. She told me she enjoyed it and that they were her best friend. I asked her why? She said because they relax me.
It was a chore for me to visit her, because her home was filled with smoke. After our visit, my throat ached, my clothes smelt like an ash tray, as did my hair. I had compassion for her cat, her only real friend, who had to live in the smoke along with her.
I continued to visit, I think mostly because I felt sorry for her but as I continued to talk with her I began to see beyond the cigarette and the addiction and I got to like her. Her childhood was abusive and her parents never told her they loved her. I believe those cigarettes started out, so she could fit in because she needed friends but she was never able to give them up.
She was a good conversationalist and she had a fun sense of humor. She had a good memory and had an interest in many things. She liked to read. When she was young, her and her husband, of over 40 years, had entertained. She could play the piano really well and she was a good joke teller. She had only one child, a daughter who died of cancer, a year after we met.
As we got to know each other better, we became good friends.
She had terrible health. The most serious was emphysema. When I first met her she could get around quite well but as time when on her health continued to deteriorate. She lived in constant pain, from a bad back. She seemed to catch everything that was going around and I was forever taking her to the doctor.
Her time was filled with one cigarette after another. She smoked some kind of brown cigarette and when she wasn't smoking she was taking pills. I was forever going to the druggist to buy her medicine.
She lived on $1000 a month, social security, and I often wondered how she survived with the cost of a carton of cigarettes (I believe she smoked two packs a day) and the price of her medications – some $50 or $60 dollars.
Because she was so anti social, she would get very depressed. Once she ended up in the mental health part of the hospital. It amazed me that even though she was in the hospital because of the effects of smoking, her suitcase was filled with cartons of cigarettes, which the hospital allowed her to smoke outside in a garden area.
I could see her gradually going downhill. In the last few months of her life, her existence was from her bed to her easy chair, in front of the TV, and back again. By this time she was on oxygen. She dragged a long tube attached to her oxygen, behind her. I thought it was crazy, that when I went to visit, there was a big sign on her front door warning about fire around oxygen and she sometimes, sat right beside the oxygen tank and smoked her cigarettes.
I worried about her and took food over to her and called and checked on her. Two weeks before she died, she had fallen and had a hard time getting back up. I then asked her for keys to her front door so I could get in if I needed to. I took her to the doctor, because I did not believe she should live alone any more. The doctor just sent her home telling her he would get her some home health help.
Last week, I got a call. A lady from the church had checked on her and could get no response. She called me to go over. Thankfully I had the keys and my husband and I went in her house and there she was, lying on the floor of her bedroom. She had blood in her mouth; her eyes were blood shot she looked close to death. She grabbed my arm and cried," don't leave me alone." She had apparently been laying there for at least 24 hours. I had talked to her by phone and she sounded alright two days before. She must have fallen after our conversation. She had an alert button which she wore around her neck but the first time she fell she didn't have it on. I warned her that she needed to wear, it at all times. This time she didn't have it on either.
We called the ambulance, which rushed her off to emergency. At the hospital she looked so sick. Her breathing was so labored and she had a hard time talking. She tried so hard to be pleasant to me, as I could see she was trying to be funny, because of her expressions but she was hurting so badly. It amazed me though; the few words I could understand were that she wanted a cigarette.
I stayed with her as long as I could and left with assurance they would call me if anything happened. The last time I saw her, I said a prayer with her, which we always did before I left for home, when we visited. When the prayer was over, we held hands, she looked into my eyes and I could see her love for me. She had always called me her angel.
In the night, the hospital called and said she had taken a turn for the worse. They had her on a breathing machine. She exited on that machine for two more days. Her body deteriorated so badly. I couldn't recognizer her at all. My hope is that her spirit left before that time because it broke my heart to see her in such a terrible condition.
I will miss Jean. I am glad she does not have to suffer any more. I am saddened for the terrible life she lived because of her addiction to cigarettes.
Jean was three months younger than I am. I still run three miles every other day and exercise, in between. I have good health and my life is full, not limited like hers was. The only difference in her life and mine was the cigarettes. I do not smoke.
The evil killers robbed her of a full life and the life she had left over was nothing but sickness and pain. Her death was horrible.
She is gone. I will miss her. So will her cat, which was her only family. I do not know what to do with the cat. I have her purse, which reeks with smoke and contains only Five Dollars. All of her money went up in smoke.
I hope we can all learn from this sad story of Jean's addiction. If you have never smoked, don't start. If you are a smoker, Quit! I'm sure Jean would tell you that.
