*An Affair of the Lungs*

Not many of my friends, family or acquaintances smoke cigarettes any longer. This was written in a college class I took after moving to Cumberland Iowa. I have kept it all these years and every now and then I would run across it and wish it was on the computer so I could share it. But let's face it, it is LONG! And I would have had to type it all and typing is not one of the things in my repertoire of talent despite the amount of it I do. But now I have the Voice to Text thingy in Google Docs and I am able to make it work to my satisfaction so when I ran across this paper I wrote in 1988 I decided to give it a go.

Barbara Brooker                                       A+
English Comp. 1
J. VanDusen
November 2,1988

An Affair of the Lungs

For 28 years he was my constant companion. Neither my husband nor my children commanded as much of my time and attention as Mr. Tobacco (Toby for short) Nicotine.


At the vulnerable age of 13, I became acquainted with Toby through my friends. Some adults said he was a bad-news character, but I was morbidly fascinated. It wasn't love at first sight; he really choked me up in the beginning. We quickly established our relationship, and before long, I saw him on a daily basis; in a few short years, he was with me every hour of every day with a large share of my money going toward his support. I liked Toby; he made me feel grown-up, relaxed and at ease.


For many years I didn't consider Toby a problem as most of my friends and relatives had relationships with him as well, in one brand or another. My husband harbored no jealousy as he also had a kinship with him.


When the first Surgeon General's report emerged, linking Toby with the big C (Cancer), it was met with disdain and derision. Not my Toby-he wasn't a troublemaker! How could they say those absurd things about my friend?


As time passed the evidence mounted as more and more people are dying of lung cancer, and the finger of death was being pointed at Toby. There were even those who blatantly labeled him a murderer. It began to be an embarrassment to be seen with him.


I was a raging bundle of conflict and turmoil. I was beginning to want to be rid of Toby; but the mere thought of pushing him out of my life precipitated a deluge of emotions. I was consorting with a known criminal and the guilt was a heavy burden: after all, Toby had been a bosom buddy for 28 years. Could I get on with my life without him? The slightest consideration brought about perspiration and palpitations because I depended deeply on Toby. What if there were a storm and I couldn't get to him? Worse yet, what if he were wiped off the face of the Earth and I could never be near him again?

The depth of my devotion may be difficult to understand for those who don't know Toby, but I once gave up a job for him. I was a chiropractic assistant and Toby's presence was strictly forbidden in the office.  Needless to say, I didn't stay for lunch. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and my relationship with Toby took on an even greater significance. Daily, I was reminded of how heavy my dependency had grown. Openly admitting that Toby was the cause was out of the question, but in my heart of hearts, I knew it to be true.


Trying to denounce my relationship with Toby was not an easy task: if I ignored him or suppressed him too long he would nag at me incessantly. He refused to be denied, so I'd relent and take him deep within my lungs to quiet him.

Gradually, I became more and more disillusioned with Toby.  One Monday morning my husband suggested we eject him from the house and not support him any longer.  Although the same thoughts had been in my mind, fear of failure and retribution by Toby were very prevalent so I remained silent. The following Monday, July 23rd, 1984 my husband once again broached the subject of deep-sixing old Toby. With my trip-hammer heart drumming away, I said: ”Yes, let's do it.”
I was convinced it if I could disregard his nagging pleas for 24 hours, I would emerge the victor. Aside from 8 hours sleep every night, four hours had been the maximum amount of time I had spent without Toby and those weren't easy hours.  24 hours loomed like a mountain. At this point I wasn't at all confident of my success; verbalizing my attempt was a prodigious effort. If I give voice to a commitment, it's as good as done, which indicates the gravity of my predicament. Although I had predestined myself to succeed I had also programmed my brain for 24 hours of extreme unpleasantness and I suffered miserably every waking minute of it. I knew about deep-breathing exercises to get through stressful times and they helped, but Toby was still uppermost on my mind. When the 24 hours had passed, I could smell the sweet air of success; I had shaken Toby's hold on me.

In retrospect, the worst of the ordeal was fear of the unknown; it was much greater than the act of purging Toby from my mind and body. The 13 years of my life preceding Toby were too short a yardstick to measure the effects of life without him. An uninformed child made a decision that influenced me for 28 years; but as each minute, hour, day, week, month and year passed, I became more solid in my conviction to be free of Toby forever.

Some startling discoveries appeared as life after Toby progressed: I could visualize my lungs returning to the pristine condition of my youth. I enjoyed a dramatic decrease in sinus problems while my blood circulation increased, making cold hands and feet an infrequent occurrence. New smells overwhelmed me; as I brought a Coke to my lips to drink, I realized I had not experienced that particular aroma since childhood. Fresh laundry hanging in the closet had the same “April-fresh” scent even hours after being placed there. In the fall, when I unpacked our winter clothes the acrid stench of stale cigarette smoke hit me in the face. Once liberating themselves from Toby, some people notice the taste of food to a stronger degree, but that wasn't true for me. The financial aspect of not supporting him any longer was noticeable at first but the extra cash seems to quickly blend in with other expenditures. The freedom I've been given was an unexpected gift; I could stay involved with a project for hours without Toby interrupting. My concentration improved and I didn't have to skulk into the bathroom or hallway during meetings to rendezvous with Toby.

In general, I'm not easily persuaded so it would not have been possible to push me into turning my back on Toby. I feel I made my own decision on my own terms and in my own time with many factors playing a part; not now or ever will I regret my decision.

Toby is a sneaky, nasty sort; he fools you into thinking he's pleasant and agreeable while raping your lungs. As an informed adult constructing an intelligent conclusion, I know it's a life-or-death matter. If you don't kill him, he'll kill you. He's the worst kind of enemy- one who poses as a friend.