I’m posting from a library in Stuart, Florida. We’re staying at my Dad’s condo, completing arrangements for his funeral this Friday.

I smoke on the balcony of the condo. Being on the 10th floor, there’s a great view of both the Atlantic and the Intercoastal River. The wind blows so fiercely up there that it’s hard to light a smoke. But I manage.

I will call it quits soon–but, right now, I can’t think beyond the last six weeks and what I need to do today. Dad’s final 24 hours were torturous–and in my head all the time. I know I made the right decision, but I can’t help second guessing, especially thinking of those last hours.

I don’t know if I even like the cigarettes I’m smoking. It’s more of a reflexive act.

After receiving upsetting, confusing, conflicting information about its availability, we were able to enroll Dad in the hospice program. He’ll stay at the hospital for the time being; his care will be a cooperative effort between hospital and hospice staff.

Please, in your living wills/advance directives be specific about what quality of life you find unacceptable should medical science be able to keep you alive–kind of. Dad probably could not be kept alive, but the last few days would have been far less stressful if quality of life had been addressed in his otherwise thorough living will.

I’m smoking in the little courtyard. I can’t say I really enjoy the cigarettes. That said, enjoyment’s not a big part of my turf at this time.

I’m spending most of my time this week at a hospital in Jacksonville, Florida. Saturday afternoon I received a call that my Dad had taken a serious fall while here for a wedding. He was alone and near death when he was found.

Dad had a hemorragic stroke, complicated by Coumadin (a blood thinner). It has been touch and go–and, yet, he lingers on.

Dad did advance to moving his arm and leg on one side of his body. A new CAT scan and EEG showed no change, however. There is little hope that he’ll stay alive and far less hope that he will live and have a quality of life that he would find remotely acceptable.

Unfortunately, I’m the “decider.”

I signed a “Do not recussitate” order this morning and we have begun weaning Dad off the ventilator. I asked to have a hospice physician involved.

I’m smoking a fair amount. I can ride the elevator down from the fourth floor critical care wing and walk past this library to a door that leads to a terrace for smokers. They’ve painted super-size cans with flowers(?) to serve as ashtrays, but still some people have dropped their blasted butts on the ground!

I go out there to smoke, think and make phone calls to family. Then I go in and wash my hands in the restroom next to the elevators so I don’t smell like tobacco smoke and head back to Dad’s room.

In business, I was used to weighing options and making decisions. But I’ve never had to make a decision like this before.

I can think of many reasons why I want to quit smoking. They really haven’t changed since my first quit:

You Guessed It: Health
I don’t want to die from lung cancer or any other smoking-related condition. If I continue, however, there’s a strong likelihood that this will happen.
I’ll share the facts again:

• One in two lifetime smokers will die from a smoking-related disease.
• Cancer, heart disease, stroke and emphysema are the most common diseases that force smokers to kick the bucket. but smoking also impacts health in other ways.
• Smoking can cause impotence, increase your chances of getting rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, gum disease and age-related macular degeneration.
• Smoking doubles the risk of sudden infant death syndrome if the mother smoked during pregnancy.
• Smoking speeds up mental decline if you get Alzheimer’s Disease.
• Smoking causes WRINKLES.

Second-Hand Smoke
It is just plain wrong to expose other people to the toxins in our smoke.

Social Stigma
I’m embarrassed that I smoke. When I smoke in the back yard, I do so on the lower deck where I can hide behind the Nanking Cherry bushes we planted a few years ago. When the cherries ripen, I’ll have to dodge those darned greedy Grackles while I smoke.

Setting a Good Example
Children whose parents smoke are twice as likely to smoke. This has proven true in my family for generations. Mother and all her brothers smoked (some quit). Meg and I smoked–not John, though. A couple of my kids smoke. When I first quit, I urged them to join me.

A Critical Reason for Me to Quit
Three years ago, my 37-year-old brother died of esophageal cancer. John was a nonsmoker, competitive athlete and vegetarian. And he was a tremendous person. Last spring, our uncle also died of esophageal cancer. Several other family members, including me, have had a precancerous condition that can lead to esophageal cancer.

Stuck in Neutral
So, I have plenty of motivation to quit. But I can’t get in gear enough to set a new quit date. I certainly don’t want to wait until New Year’s Day or the American Cancer Society’s Great American Smokeout in November.

Last year I chose the day after my birthday. It was a Monday and I’d be in a nonsmoking environment all day. The birthday of someone you love or an anniversary are other options.

From reading, I’ve learned that you should avoid setting the date for a time when you’re super-stressed (i.e. losing a sister, ending a marriage, changing jobs). It’s also advised that you set your quit date after the wedding/wedding reception or any significant event you plan to attend where alcohol will be served.

Maybe I should wait at least a couple weeks before setting a date?

FDA approval of Zimulti/Acomplia/rimonabant is running at about the same pace as the attorney for my sister’s estate. (Oops! I didn’t say that, did I?)

Zimulti will be the name in the U.S. for this drug that helps people lose weight, reduce their waistlines, lower the amount of fat in the blood and increase HDL–the “good” cholesterol. It also has been shown to reduce the nasty hold that nicotine has on smokers, although it has not been licensed for this purpose.

On June 13, an ad hoc panel of medical pros selected by the FDA will deliver its opinion on the safety and efficacy of Zimulti. The agency is slated (again) to publish its final opinion in July.

Many speculate that the fen-phen diet pill scare a few years back has made the FDA gun-shy about all diet drugs. However, it is anticipated that the FDA will ultimately approve Zimulti, as have most EU countries and the UK.

I’m pleased to say I don’t meet the recommended body mass index of 30 or higher that might inspire my physician to prescribe Zimulti. But I’m not above begging or bribery!

I quit smoking last July and stuck to it for two months. At that time, I found setting a quit date the most difficult part of quitting smoking. Not withdrawal symptoms. Not weight gain. Just setting the blasted date.

So here I am, 10 months later, smoking like the Okefenokee swamp. Sometimes I really want to quit again. Sometimes I just don’t give a Rhett Butler. But I can’t believe this would be good timing. Though I’ve not kept a smoking diary recently, (you can find a blank diary for your own use in the tools section of this blog) I have been paying close attention to when and why I’m smoking. My current smoking doesn’t follow my old patterns at all. Maybe I should set a quit date?

Is There No End To the Bad News?

Added to my sister’s death and the ongoing chaos of her estate and business–our only granddaughter, Nadia, is in the hospital with her wing (scapula, etc) all out of whack. It’s popped out of place and they’ve had a devil of a time getting it back in and having it stay where it’s supposed to be.

The doctors think there’s nerve, ligament and muscle damage. They’re also seriously considering a genetic disorder called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS). The long-term implications would be determined by what form of EDS Nadia may have.

Nadia’s been in a lot of pain and has been one strong little soldier. Only 10, she is amazingly quick-witted and has a verbal acuity most adults would envy. And she’s so, so funny–has been since she was a toddler. It’s common to compare Nads with Eloise from the Plaza. (If you don’t know the Eloise books and are acquainted with any child of any age, get thee to a bookstore. I guarantee you’ll be delighted.)

It’s getting so I’m afraid to answer the phone.

We flew home to Wisconsin yesterday. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was abandoning my sister.

Sure, it was often hard to be at her home–it’s where she died and I kept bumping into sad-sweet memories of when Meg, John and Mother were all alive. But, at her house, I also felt like I was still in Meg’s life and could do something for her by taking care of things–cleaning, finishing her laundry and weeding the fabulous tropical courtyard surrounding her pool.

I can’t say I miss the lawyer/business partner meetings. Not one bit. One of the lawyers has an office above a clinic with a sign advertising colonic cleansing. I told mister esquire that was pretty funny. He didn’t laugh.

Meg had a photo she’d taken of a gross, grown-up John, looking straight at the camera, mouth gaping and full of partially chewed food. When they were kids, he could always get Meg’s goat doing this. “Ewww…you’re sick, John,” she’d wail. Mother, of course, was appalled. If you could look past the nasty food in the photo, John’s eyes were twinkling.

About a year ago, I framed a favorite photo of Meg and John as young adults, sitting together on a sofa, healthy and happy. John was making a crazy face and Meg was giving him “devil horns” with her fingers behind his head.

It’s weird that I’m the only one left. I was nine when Meg was born, 12 when John showed up. When I was a teenager, they’d call me the “dowager sister.”

Blowing Smoke

I don’t like the full-blown return of my smoking habit. I want to set a quit date. But right now, I can’t think past today.

After a more-than-tense, three-hour meeting with lawyers, an accountant and my sister’s business partner today, I wanted nothing more than a cigarette and a good primal scream. (And a gang of thugs who would do my bidding.)

By the time we got back to Meg’s house and I started going through even new mounds of old paperwork, I realized I was out of cigarettes. I forgot the old rules about making sure this never happened. I even scrounged through the garbage to see if I’d dumped a long butt there. Yes! I really did, blast it!

I was thinking that I’m straying pretty far from smoking cessation–and the subject of this blog. Then I considered that for a majority of people, kicking the habit is not a straight, bumpless road. So, I plan to move forward with a new quit attempt and this blog.

Still in Florida. My sister was a shopper/pack rat/collector.

As a result, there’s a lot to be cleared out. Most books (but not her antique books about England) are ok. Clothes are ok. But favorite items of hers, like her extensive Lladro collection are so hard to deal with. It’s feels kind of like we’re erasing her existence.

Shock and grief and anger combine to put me into zombie mode. I’m taking a step at a time and it’s hard to see beyond today.

Years ago, I was executrix and sole beneficiary of my great aunt’s estate. That was pretty easy. This is much more of a maze and I do, indeed, feel like I’m bumping around in the dark much of the time.

Nonetheless…I’m a brick wall on certain issues of protecting my sister.

When We Were a Whole Family

The last couple of weeks I’ve spent a lot of time going through Maggie’s (Meg’s) photos and talking about our family before Mother and brother John died in 2003–and now Meg. It’s a sad/happy experience.

I’m amazed at how many photos of my gorgeous mother show her with a cigarette in hand. Basically, if she wasn’t holding a baby, she was smoking.

In Meg’s photos there also was a shot of a Williamson family reunion, held in Brown County, down in southern Indiana. It appears to be taken in the very early 1960s.

A number of the adults in that picture are holding cigarettes. One of those family traditions, I guess.

The “Little” Apple Tree

Deep in a pile of memorabilia, I found a wonderful letter my grandfather, Burr Williamson, sent to Meg when she was about 10.

He told her that he’d heard she was interested in apple trees. Well, he was sending her a “little apple tree” of her own to plant in the yard. He explained in detail that the tree would arrive when the weather was warm enough, told her how to plant and care for it, how fast it would grow and what it would look like. He also said it would have little white flowers in the spring. Attached to the letter was a clipping from the nursery catalog of “Meg’s little apple tree.”

What a wonderful man–we were fortunate. I remember when that tree grew its first apples–Meg was ecstatic!

On my grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary, not having much money, I wracked my brain for a gift that would be meaningful and affordable. I got them a flowering crab.

We took the tree to their house and planted in the spot of their choice, which was right outside Pap-pa’s bedroom windows. Every year they called to tell me when it bloomed. My grandfather looked out the window at its blossoms from his bed, during his final illness. I’m so glad.