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Why and How I Quit Smoking
I don't remember the day I started smoking, but I do remember why. My husband smoked. When we kissed, he tasted like a full ashtray smells. I started smoking so that that wouldn't bother me so much, but I knew better.
Nicotine stained fingers, face, and teeth are just the beginning. Besides the offensive smell, there is the layer of nicotine that stains everything in the smoker's home:, furniture, walls, carpets, everything. On several different occasions, both my parents were extremely sick with illnesses directly attributable to smoking, eventually culminating in lung cancer for my dad. Cigarettes were so important to them, that they budgeted the smokes in with groceries. If money was tight, we ate beans and potatoes, but they never did without cigarettes. I promised myself in my teens that I would never smoke. I broke that promise sometime in the summer of 1981. It would be hopeless trying to get people who are not interested in knowing more about Bronchitis to read articles pertaining to it. Only people interested in Bronchitis will enjoy this article.
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All through high school, P.E. and health teachers preached the deleterious effects of tobacco smoke on the body. Television, newspapers, magazines, doctors, and the Surgeon General all reported that cigarette smoking caused cancer, emphysema, and many other health problems. I didn't need to hear or read their stories. Both my parents have smoked since their teens. I saw firsthand what smoking does to the smoker.
After smoking for five years, I thought I was doomed to be a lifetime smoker just like my parents. Then something frightening happened. I fell asleep in my chair with a lit cigarette in my hand. Unlike many others who died after they went to sleep with a burning cigarette, I was fortunate. I wasn't hurt. Not physically, anyway.
After gathering all the cigarettes I had, I went to the kitchen and carefully destroyed each one, then dropped it into the trash can. By evening I was suffering, but I refused to buy more. Later, I learned my brother-in-law had just quit smoking. He told me to buy salted, roasted sunflower seeds in the shell. A lot of imagination is required in writing. People may think that writing on Bronchitis is very easy; on the contrary, knowledge and imagination has to be merged to create an interesting composition.
"Suck the salt off and spit out the seeds," he said. "Salt cuts the craving for nicotine." It worked. For six weeks, I carried sunflower seeds around with me. Anytime I started to crave a cigarette, I popped four or five sunflower seeds in my mouth. The times I felt foolish for constantly having sunflower seeds in my mouth, I would just remember the new skirt I had thrown away. Don't misunderstand. Quitting cigarettes was the hardest thing I ever did, but I was more determined than I had ever been.
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Soon, clothes with tiny circles burned into the fabric became the norm. I couldn't breathe easily if I walked further than out to my car. I couldn't play ball with my children; I didn't have the breath. Many times I decided to quit. And I would, for two or three hours. By the end of the second year, I had had three bouts of pneumonia. This article has been written with the intention of showing some illumination to the meaning of Bronchitis. This is so that those who don't know much about Bronchitis can learn more about it.
I don't remember the day I started smoking, but I'll never forget the day I stopped. On June 2, 1986, I dumped the worst habit I have ever had. Was it worth it? You bet. I no longer have pneumonia every year. Though bronchitis still bothers me on occasion, and I have chronic asthma, most of the time I can breathe without trouble. Best of all, my husband quit, too, within a month of the date that I quit. We have had a smoke free home for more than 20 years, and we have both benefitted from it.
I was terrified. If I had not wakened from the smell of burning fabric, I might have died, or at least been badly burned. The new skirt I was wearing had eight holes burned through it. The folds of fabric had protected my skin until I awoke. When I realized that I had risked my life, and ruined a brand new skirt, anger replaced the terror I felt--anger at myself. The length of an article is rather immaterial about its response from people. People are more interested in the matter about Bronchitis, and not length.
Linda Pogue is the webmaster of http://www.momsredkitchen.com where she regularly posts information about kitchen products, reviews cookbooks, and shares family recipes.
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