Vicky 9 (Dark Side Forum)

Vicky 9
Author: Marcus	May 31, 2010 at 12:47:52

Vicky kissed Mike goodbye and watched him walk down the path and turn onto the road that led to the village below, his mesh shopping bag hanging from his belt. She poured a glass of the local white wine, lit a cigarette, and walked to the chalet’s porch overlooking the valley. Closing her eyes, Vicky took a deep breath and savored the smell and feel of the clean mountain air in her lungs. Letting it out slowly, she sipped her wine and took a long drag on her cigarette, inhaling until her lungs were filled with smoke. She held it as long as possible before exhaling and taking another sip of wine. She and Mike had planned the trip to France for over a year, waiting until the demands of work and family would allow them to take the time for a real vacation. In the fifteen years she had been with Philips Publishing, Vicky had not taken more than three or four days vacation at a time, and those were rare. They had spent three days in Paris before moving on to the rented chalet in the mountains where they would spend the next ten days. The plan was to take small side trips into the countryside and visit different villages and historic sites. So far, though, in the two days they had been there, most of their time had been spent making love, eating, drinking, and relaxing. Vicky felt the soreness in her thighs and smiled at the memory of having Mike inside her, bringing her to climax, and then caressing her as she lay at his side, her chest heaving, her heart pounding. Vicky tapped the ash from her cigarette and drew on it, continuing the assault on her lungs. Exhaling slowly, she watched the smoke drift away and realized that for the first time in over a year she was completely relaxed and contented.

Vicky’s state on contentment and peace of mind came only partly from being away from work with no looming deadlines, and only partly from being alone with the man she loved and making love to him. Had she bothered to think about it, Vicky would have realized that part of it was due to a decision she had made two weeks earlier after considerable thought and soul searching. Her annual physical exam had come in the midst of the hectic, stress-filled chaos of preparing to leave town when, stressed out and over-extended, Vicky had been smoking more than usual. It had also been performed by Dr. Whit, a younger female physician who was slowly taking over Dr. Rossen’s practice as he prepared to retire at the end of the year. Everything had gone smoothly up to a point. Vicky’s blood work was good, her pulse and blood pressure were normal, and she had no physical complaints to mention, but Dr. Whit had frowned when she listened to Vicky’s lungs. They were clearly those of a heavy smoker, but the sounds she heard were more in keeping with a woman in her fifties or sixties, not a physically active woman of forty-three. Checking Vicky’s file, Dr. Whit saw that Vicky had been repeatedly advised to stop smoking, that she had smoked since her early teens, and that her daily consumption had been roughly two packs a day since her late teens or early twenties. She had asked Vicky if she ever had difficulty breathing, and Vicky had said no, although she did get out of breath more quickly than she used to, “But, I know that’s because I smoke and need to quit.” When asked if she had given quitting serious consideration, Vicky had been blunt. “Not really. I know I need to, I know my lungs are only going to get worse if I don’t, but I’m just not ready to.” Dr. Whit had been equally blunt in her reply. “I think you may want to reconsider that. At your age, and number of pack years, there is a high likelihood that you have early stage emphysema. Your breath sounds are certainly indicative of it, and your description of having difficulty clearing your airways in the morning is as well. I’m going to schedule you for a pulmonary battery tomorrow and a follow-up appointment for the next day. We need to know exactly what condition your lungs are in.” Vicky hadn’t said much, just nodded and agreed. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dr. Whit has smiled and handed her a thick booklet. “This will tell you what to expect, and has information you may find helpful in thinking about quitting.” Vicky had lit a cigarette as soon as she left the doctors office and drew hard on it before inhaling as deeply as possible, deliberately packing the smoke as far into her lungs as possible before starting to walk to the bar where she was to meet Julia and Pam. Exhaling, she threw the booklet in the nearest trashcan. It wasn’t a conscious effort on her part, but that evening and into the night she smoked more than usual, taking longer drags and inhaling and holding them as if in defiance of what she knew she was likely to learn in an other two days.

The emphysema diagnosis wasn’t a surprise, but it disturbed Vicky more than she had thought it would. Again, Dr. Whit had been blunt. “You have early stage emphysema. In several places in each lung, the alveolar walls have gone from having lost some elasticity to having collapsed, creating bullae. That means that there is less surface area through which oxygen can be absorbed, the loss of elasticity also means that when you exhale, less air is expelled, leaving your lungs somewhat inflated at all times. That loss of elasticity is why it takes longer for your breathing to return to normal when you get out of breath.” She paused to give Vicky a chance to respond or ask questions, but her patient simply nodded and said “Okay.” Dr. Whit continued. “That’s the bad news. The good news is that it is early stage and it isn’t extensive. Even though almost all of each lung is permanently damaged to varying degrees, the bullae are still small, and there aren’t many of them.” Vicky took a deep breath, suddenly conscious of the act of breathing and that the lungs she was filling with air were also filled with nearly fifty pack years of tar she had deliberately put in them. “What’s the prognosis?” She asked softly. “Well, it depends. If you quit smoking and maintain your current level of physical activity, you won’t stop its progress, but you will slow it to the point where it shouldn’t advance to mid or late stage for many years. If you continue smoking, it will continue to progress at a gradually accelerating rate. It varies from patient to patient, but, generally speaking, it progresses more rapidly in people who smoke heavily, even those who are physically active. Keep in mind that, because it develops gradually, and because as a smoker you are accustomed to being shorter winded than others, emphysema is often not diagnosed until it is well into mid stage. I imagine you have noticed a decrease in your stamina over the last couple of years, right?” Vicky thought for a second before answering. “Yes and no: I’ve noticed that I get out of breath doing certain things more quickly and thoroughly than I used to, and it takes longer for my breathing to recover; but it isn’t bad enough to prevent me from doing things. I mean, I still play tennis a couple of times a week, take the stairs instead of the elevator, I don’t hesitate to run flat out to catch the bus, you know? So, I’ve noticed changes, but I wouldn’t say my stamina is appreciably less than it ever was.” Dr. Whit smiled and nodded. “That’s what I’m talking about. You haven’t noticed a significant change because it has been gradual.” She folded her arms. “Because we have an early diagnosis, and because you are in excellent health otherwise, you have an opportunity to disarm the time bomb you’ve planted in your chest. There are a couple of other things to consider in addition to having emphysema. The first is lung cancer. Your risk of developing lung cancer is much, much higher than many other smokers; partly because you smoke heavily, and partly because you started smoking before your lungs were anywhere near fully developed. That means that they were altered at the cellular level, and we now know that the mutations that eventually become cancer probably begin within the first few years of daily smoking.” She paused for breath before continuing, but Vicky didn’t say anything. “The other thing to consider is hear disease. Your heart is already overworked because you smoke. Being physically active helps, but the fact is by inhibiting your lungs ability to absorb oxygen; you’re making it work harder. If you continue smoking, more bullae will form, and your heart will gradually become enlarged, potentially leading to congestive heart failure.” Vicky took a deep breath before speaking. “Well, I know what I need to do. Now it’s just a matter of figuring out how to do it.” Dr. Whit had reminded her that there were a variety of smoking cessation programs, and had given her a packet of written material. “I’m not saying you’ll find the answer, but it’s a starting point. The important thing is to set a quit date, stick to it, and ask for help when you need it. Don’t try to do it alone. Give me a call when you decide what you’re going to do; but keep in mind, this is real. It isn’t a general admonition to quit or warning of the dangers. You have emphysema. There’s no changing that, but you can slow it down to almost a halt.” Vicky thanked her and said she would be in touch. Outside, her hand had shaken as she lit the cigarette she had been craving.

She had put the matter of her lungs, their condition, smoking, and decisions that had to be made out of her mind over the weekend, spending both days in her office trying to finish projects so they wouldn’t be waiting for her when she returned from vacation. As far a Vicky was concerned, the smoking ban wasn’t in effect if she had to work on the weekend; and anyway, the window was open with a fan in it. As she left the building and began walking to Momigliano’s to meet Mike late Sunday afternoon, Vicky realized that she had consumed almost six packs of cigarettes since Saturday morning. “That probably added a couple of bullae” she muttered to herself as she paused to light a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, she began to walk. “Okay, girl, get your shit together and figure out what you’re going to do.”

What she did, was read the material Dr. Whit had given her and fretted. Much of it was about how emphysema progresses. Much of it was clinical in tone and language, all of it emphasized the permanence of the disease: that it was irreversible, could not be cured, and would never stop progressing; but could be slowed to a near halt. Vicky knew she needed to quit smoking. She had know that for as long as she had been a smoker. She also knew that she could do it, having done so twice before, albeit briefly. She became conscious of the damage she was doing whenever she smoked, and began noticing even the slightest changes in her breathing when climbing stairs and walking up hills. Yet, for all that Vicky was increasingly and acutely aware of what she was doing and the consequences of more than twenty-eight years of heavy smoking, she was equally disturbed by the thought of life without her deadly vice. Smoking was as much a part of her life as breathing itself. It was part of what made her feel alive. It was a consistent comfort when under stress, and a quiet, self-indulgent pleasure. The fact was that even though she was aware of the damage she had done and could feel its effects, Vicky felt healthy and vigorous. Knowing that her lungs were permanently damaged, that they contained bullae, that she had emphysema and would for the rest of her life didn’t change how she felt. All it did was made her feel conflicted about continuing to smoke. Finally, on Saturday, while Mike was at a symposium, Vicky packed a lunch and a bottle of water and hiked up to the old observatory in City Park. She took the climb slowly stopping to rest when she was out of breath, and letting her mind wander. She genuinely enjoyed smoking, and had accepted the long-term risks when she started. Since then, she had taken the subtle changes in stride, accepting them as natural and acceptable consequences of doing something she enjoyed. She knew that if she quit smoking she would probably live to be an old woman with the man she loved. She also knew that if she did not quit, she stood a good chance, but not a certainty, of an early death. Was she willing to run that risk? Vicky stood amid the ruins and looked out over the park, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her breathing slowly recovered. Lighting a cigarette, she inhaled and felt the familiar burn in her throat as she filled her lungs. Exhaling, she knew she had reached a decision. She was willing to run the risk. Smoking had been a part of her life for many years, and, she hoped, it would be for many more.

Now, as she sat on the chalet’s porch and waited for Mike to return, Vicky lit another cigarette, sipped her wine, and sighed with contentment. Life was very good.

Follow Ups

Re: Vicky 9 Modoc 18:56:40 6/3/2010 (0)
Re: Vicky 9 SpyPlane 12:37:19 6/2/2010 (0)
Re: Vicky 9 nellie 19:22:10 6/1/2010 (0)

Post Followup

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> Vicky kissed Mike goodbye and watched him walk down the path and turn onto the road that led to the village below, his mesh shopping bag hanging from his belt. She poured a glass of the local white wine, lit a cigarette, and walked to the chalet’s porch overlooking the valley. Closing her eyes, Vicky took a deep breath and savored the smell and feel of the clean mountain air in her lungs. Letting it out slowly, she sipped her wine and took a long drag on her cigarette, inhaling until her lungs were filled with smoke. She held it as long as possible before exhaling and taking another sip of wine. She and Mike had planned the trip to France for over a year, waiting until the demands of work and family would allow them to take the time for a real vacation. In the fifteen years she had been with Philips Publishing, Vicky had not taken more than three or four days vacation at a time, and those were rare. They had spent three days in Paris before moving on to the rented chalet in the mountains where they would spend the next ten days. The plan was to take small side trips into the countryside and visit different villages and historic sites. So far, though, in the two days they had been there, most of their time had been spent making love, eating, drinking, and relaxing. Vicky felt the soreness in her thighs and smiled at the memory of having Mike inside her, bringing her to climax, and then caressing her as she lay at his side, her chest heaving, her heart pounding. Vicky tapped the ash from her cigarette and drew on it, continuing the assault on her lungs. Exhaling slowly, she watched the smoke drift away and realized that for the first time in over a year she was completely relaxed and contented. > > Vicky’s state on contentment and peace of mind came only partly from being away from work with no looming deadlines, and only partly from being alone with the man she loved and making love to him. Had she bothered to think about it, Vicky would have realized that part of it was due to a decision she had made two weeks earlier after considerable thought and soul searching. Her annual physical exam had come in the midst of the hectic, stress-filled chaos of preparing to leave town when, stressed out and over-extended, Vicky had been smoking more than usual. It had also been performed by Dr. Whit, a younger female physician who was slowly taking over Dr. Rossen’s practice as he prepared to retire at the end of the year. Everything had gone smoothly up to a point. Vicky’s blood work was good, her pulse and blood pressure were normal, and she had no physical complaints to mention, but Dr. Whit had frowned when she listened to Vicky’s lungs. They were clearly those of a heavy smoker, but the sounds she heard were more in keeping with a woman in her fifties or sixties, not a physically active woman of forty-three. Checking Vicky’s file, Dr. Whit saw that Vicky had been repeatedly advised to stop smoking, that she had smoked since her early teens, and that her daily consumption had been roughly two packs a day since her late teens or early twenties. She had asked Vicky if she ever had difficulty breathing, and Vicky had said no, although she did get out of breath more quickly than she used to, “But, I know that’s because I smoke and need to quit.” When asked if she had given quitting serious consideration, Vicky had been blunt. “Not really. I know I need to, I know my lungs are only going to get worse if I don’t, but I’m just not ready to.” Dr. Whit had been equally blunt in her reply. “I think you may want to reconsider that. At your age, and number of pack years, there is a high likelihood that you have early stage emphysema. Your breath sounds are certainly indicative of it, and your description of having difficulty clearing your airways in the morning is as well. I’m going to schedule you for a pulmonary battery tomorrow and a follow-up appointment for the next day. We need to know exactly what condition your lungs are in.” Vicky hadn’t said much, just nodded and agreed. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dr. Whit has smiled and handed her a thick booklet. “This will tell you what to expect, and has information you may find helpful in thinking about quitting.” Vicky had lit a cigarette as soon as she left the doctors office and drew hard on it before inhaling as deeply as possible, deliberately packing the smoke as far into her lungs as possible before starting to walk to the bar where she was to meet Julia and Pam. Exhaling, she threw the booklet in the nearest trashcan. It wasn’t a conscious effort on her part, but that evening and into the night she smoked more than usual, taking longer drags and inhaling and holding them as if in defiance of what she knew she was likely to learn in an other two days. > > The emphysema diagnosis wasn’t a surprise, but it disturbed Vicky more than she had thought it would. Again, Dr. Whit had been blunt. “You have early stage emphysema. In several places in each lung, the alveolar walls have gone from having lost some elasticity to having collapsed, creating bullae. That means that there is less surface area through which oxygen can be absorbed, the loss of elasticity also means that when you exhale, less air is expelled, leaving your lungs somewhat inflated at all times. That loss of elasticity is why it takes longer for your breathing to return to normal when you get out of breath.” She paused to give Vicky a chance to respond or ask questions, but her patient simply nodded and said “Okay.” Dr. Whit continued. “That’s the bad news. The good news is that it is early stage and it isn’t extensive. Even though almost all of each lung is permanently damaged to varying degrees, the bullae are still small, and there aren’t many of them.” Vicky took a deep breath, suddenly conscious of the act of breathing and that the lungs she was filling with air were also filled with nearly fifty pack years of tar she had deliberately put in them. “What’s the prognosis?” She asked softly. “Well, it depends. If you quit smoking and maintain your current level of physical activity, you won’t stop its progress, but you will slow it to the point where it shouldn’t advance to mid or late stage for many years. If you continue smoking, it will continue to progress at a gradually accelerating rate. It varies from patient to patient, but, generally speaking, it progresses more rapidly in people who smoke heavily, even those who are physically active. Keep in mind that, because it develops gradually, and because as a smoker you are accustomed to being shorter winded than others, emphysema is often not diagnosed until it is well into mid stage. I imagine you have noticed a decrease in your stamina over the last couple of years, right?” Vicky thought for a second before answering. “Yes and no: I’ve noticed that I get out of breath doing certain things more quickly and thoroughly than I used to, and it takes longer for my breathing to recover; but it isn’t bad enough to prevent me from doing things. I mean, I still play tennis a couple of times a week, take the stairs instead of the elevator, I don’t hesitate to run flat out to catch the bus, you know? So, I’ve noticed changes, but I wouldn’t say my stamina is appreciably less than it ever was.” Dr. Whit smiled and nodded. “That’s what I’m talking about. You haven’t noticed a significant change because it has been gradual.” She folded her arms. “Because we have an early diagnosis, and because you are in excellent health otherwise, you have an opportunity to disarm the time bomb you’ve planted in your chest. There are a couple of other things to consider in addition to having emphysema. The first is lung cancer. Your risk of developing lung cancer is much, much higher than many other smokers; partly because you smoke heavily, and partly because you started smoking before your lungs were anywhere near fully developed. That means that they were altered at the cellular level, and we now know that the mutations that eventually become cancer probably begin within the first few years of daily smoking.” She paused for breath before continuing, but Vicky didn’t say anything. “The other thing to consider is hear disease. Your heart is already overworked because you smoke. Being physically active helps, but the fact is by inhibiting your lungs ability to absorb oxygen; you’re making it work harder. If you continue smoking, more bullae will form, and your heart will gradually become enlarged, potentially leading to congestive heart failure.” Vicky took a deep breath before speaking. “Well, I know what I need to do. Now it’s just a matter of figuring out how to do it.” Dr. Whit had reminded her that there were a variety of smoking cessation programs, and had given her a packet of written material. “I’m not saying you’ll find the answer, but it’s a starting point. The important thing is to set a quit date, stick to it, and ask for help when you need it. Don’t try to do it alone. Give me a call when you decide what you’re going to do; but keep in mind, this is real. It isn’t a general admonition to quit or warning of the dangers. You have emphysema. There’s no changing that, but you can slow it down to almost a halt.” Vicky thanked her and said she would be in touch. Outside, her hand had shaken as she lit the cigarette she had been craving. > > She had put the matter of her lungs, their condition, smoking, and decisions that had to be made out of her mind over the weekend, spending both days in her office trying to finish projects so they wouldn’t be waiting for her when she returned from vacation. As far a Vicky was concerned, the smoking ban wasn’t in effect if she had to work on the weekend; and anyway, the window was open with a fan in it. As she left the building and began walking to Momigliano’s to meet Mike late Sunday afternoon, Vicky realized that she had consumed almost six packs of cigarettes since Saturday morning. “That probably added a couple of bullae” she muttered to herself as she paused to light a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, she began to walk. “Okay, girl, get your shit together and figure out what you’re going to do.” > > What she did, was read the material Dr. Whit had given her and fretted. Much of it was about how emphysema progresses. Much of it was clinical in tone and language, all of it emphasized the permanence of the disease: that it was irreversible, could not be cured, and would never stop progressing; but could be slowed to a near halt. Vicky knew she needed to quit smoking. She had know that for as long as she had been a smoker. She also knew that she could do it, having done so twice before, albeit briefly. She became conscious of the damage she was doing whenever she smoked, and began noticing even the slightest changes in her breathing when climbing stairs and walking up hills. Yet, for all that Vicky was increasingly and acutely aware of what she was doing and the consequences of more than twenty-eight years of heavy smoking, she was equally disturbed by the thought of life without her deadly vice. Smoking was as much a part of her life as breathing itself. It was part of what made her feel alive. It was a consistent comfort when under stress, and a quiet, self-indulgent pleasure. The fact was that even though she was aware of the damage she had done and could feel its effects, Vicky felt healthy and vigorous. Knowing that her lungs were permanently damaged, that they contained bullae, that she had emphysema and would for the rest of her life didn’t change how she felt. All it did was made her feel conflicted about continuing to smoke. Finally, on Saturday, while Mike was at a symposium, Vicky packed a lunch and a bottle of water and hiked up to the old observatory in City Park. She took the climb slowly stopping to rest when she was out of breath, and letting her mind wander. She genuinely enjoyed smoking, and had accepted the long-term risks when she started. Since then, she had taken the subtle changes in stride, accepting them as natural and acceptable consequences of doing something she enjoyed. She knew that if she quit smoking she would probably live to be an old woman with the man she loved. She also knew that if she did not quit, she stood a good chance, but not a certainty, of an early death. Was she willing to run that risk? Vicky stood amid the ruins and looked out over the park, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her breathing slowly recovered. Lighting a cigarette, she inhaled and felt the familiar burn in her throat as she filled her lungs. Exhaling, she knew she had reached a decision. She was willing to run the risk. Smoking had been a part of her life for many years, and, she hoped, it would be for many more. > > Now, as she sat on the chalet’s porch and waited for Mike to return, Vicky lit another cigarette, sipped her wine, and sighed with contentment. Life was very good.
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