Shout! Omaha

Shop Talk

I’m not going to lie. I started smoking because I thought it was cool.

A little more than eight years ago, I accepted a full-flavor Dunhill from a wide, red box because I wanted to do something bad.

I bummed off people for six months after that – Parliaments and Camels and Marlboroughs from kids at sweaty basement parties and shows until I got a regular supplier in my first scene boyfriend.

He went on tour, and when he didn’t call on that gray Valentine’s Day of 2002, I cut class, bought a pack of Gauloises and cried through the reminder of my first official day as a smoker.

Ultimately, the boy didn’t stick. His predilection for Parliament Lights, which I adopted, did.

I’m cautiously optimistic in reporting here the medicine I’ve been taking in preparation for the removal of my thyroid so quickly got my thyroid hormone levels under control that said surgery, for the moment, has been postponed. I’ve decided to let the medicine continue to do its thing until the end of the summer, at which point I’ll make further decisions.

In the meantime, my thyroid eye disease –related to the hyperthyroid condition but somewhat independent of the gland’s general health – has worsened. Technically, it’s been gradually worsening for two years, but I can say with confidence it is, right now, the worst it’s ever been.

Fatty deposits behind the eyes and swelling throughout the region cause my eyes to protrude, resulting in so-called staring eyes, or, in the parlance of TED patients, simply “the eyes.” Now, my eyes don’t close entirely, making severe dryness – and, subsequently, painful scratches on my corneas – a constant struggle. Worse than that for my self-esteem, my eyes are two very different sizes.

I’ve been doing what I can to help my situation, which can never be “cured” but can perhaps benefit down the road from an invasive and potentially risky surgery. I’ve developed a daily cycle of cold compresses, lubricating eye drops and gel, and upright sleeping in an attempt to manage swelling.

And now, because I’ve known all along it’s been scientifically proven to contribute to the severity of TED, I’m trying to quit smoking.

It’s hard.

I’m stating the obvious, yes. It’s a good thing to do in general, yes, for numerous reasons beyond the hope that my eyes will be able to somewhat resolve themselves (a possible and probably best outcome of TED).

Still, it’s hard.

Right now, I’m going cold turkey. As of this column, I’m at two-and-a-half cigarettes a day. I’ve got mints and breathing exercises and meditation and lots and lots of water.

I’m not going to tell you smoking doesn’t look cool. It does. I can tell you smoking isn’t actually cool. It isn’t.

But my real word of advice today is the same one I’d give you if you were considering dating that boy who never calls when he says he will: Don’t. Don’t ever start, because it’s so easy to believe the beautiful things won’t hurt you.

They will.