Smoke - Kelly Baker (rm book recommendations txt) 📗

I drift from my dreams as the concentrator tucked away behind my recliner tirelessly drones out its low, steady hum. The hum is punctuated every few seconds by a soft, rhythmic pop, followed by a drawn-out hiss.Through it all, the droning continues. The cycle of noise is endless.

As I try to rouse, I adjust my canula. The inside of my right nostril is getting an angry raw spot from my tubing. Another raw spot stings me from behind my ear. Ah, this blasted tube. I wish I didn’t have to deal with this aggravation.

I can’t help but cough as the thick phlegm that coats the back of my throat tries to strangle me. It refuses to let go of me as my lungs squeeze in a painful spasm of desperation to inhale a complete breath. Who am I kidding, though?

It reminds me of who I am now, as well as who I once was.

Oh, how I loved my old life, when I was young and fearless of what the future would rain down on my body. I thought I was invincible. I realize now my body was a gorgeous mansion. Now, it’s no more than a charred shack with broken windows.

I used to spend day upon day going to and fro into town and to the city to shop and to socialize with friends. How we’d drink the night away and smoke until we could barely see our hands in front of our faces. Night after night, we would do this, until dawn would break. It was an endless cycle. I miss my beautiful voice holding onto a fermata during the last high note in the grand finale. Now, I’m left only with low, gravelly rattles of broken rasps as the melodies in my mind haunt me of what I could have become, had I taken better care of my health.

My nebulizer clicks on as I raise it to my mouth with a shaky hand. Yet another dreaded breathing treatment. Misty medicine swirls from my pipe. It dances in my face and it teases my senses. It doesn’t sting my eyes like cigarette smoke. It doesn’t send a thrilling rush through me like the first drag of that precious nicotine. The terrible gurgling machine is a sour reminder of what is now deemed forbidden from my lungs. I suppose in the end we all trade one habit for another.

Text: Kelly Baker
Editing: Kelly Baker
Publication Date: 12-31-2019

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
I write this short story in dedication to a loved one's battle with COPD. This is their message they wish they could tell the world, as a warning of what they wish someone would have told them before they started smoking.