I lift up my head and gasped desperately for air. Except, this time I’m not under water.
I’m in my bedroom.
I should never have accepted those tobacco sweets from the guy at the nightclub in the first place. He said it would give me a dose of dopamine to cheer me up because I was “looking glum” that day. Naivety got the better of me and I never thought too much. I’d never heard of something called “tobacco sweets”, in fact I didn’t know they made sweets from tobacco. I was not a heavy smoker but the prospect of trying something new ignited a spark in me.
“Try it, it’s good. You’ll feel like you want to start anew.”
If only I had known “anew” meant to end your life and restart in another world.
It melted in my mouth like chocolate fudge, except with a mild taste of strawberry and smoke. I was instantaneously turned into a child begging for treats on Halloween night. I couldn’t get enough of it, and soon found myself signing a deal for packets of sweets to be shipped to my house every month. Guilty pleasures, or so I thought.
I never expected anything much to happen out of it. At least, not the robbing of my oxygen and the deprivation from the rest of the world, bed-ridden and waking up every day to a flurry of injections and pills.
It was like an instant stress reliever, throwing all my daily pains into the wind. My boss could yell at me and threaten to fire me for my deteriorating work quality, but a single bite washed away all my worries. It was like drugs, but it melted in my mouth like chocolate fudge. Eventually, it was the reason for my early resignation. Partially, it angered my boss. Partially, it costed me my health.
Like all addictions, I fell into its deadly trap slowly – then all at once. Regardless how much I tried to self warn of the possible threats of tobacco, it was impossible to resist. The relish of every bite, the thick cream oozing out of the core of the sweet melting sensationally under just one touch of my tongue had me craving for more. It was the sweetest thing on earth, and I found myself impossible to resist. It was like falling in love.
Of course, I had occasional headaches and cough. It was brushed off as mild flu, while I sipped on freshly squeezed panadol juice. To tell the truth, I did not suspect anything of the headaches and coughs until the day a drop of blood accompanied my phlegm when I was having an exceptionally bad cough. I hesitated. And then I took another bite of my self proclaimed heaven.
It came again, the second time at night. This time, it was a more painful cough. This time, it was a darker shade of red. As hard as I tried pondering over a reason why, the word “tobacco sweet” never crossed my mind. That’s when I finally decided to consult a doctor, expecting to hear that I had a bad flu. I couldn’t get any more mistaken.
What greeted me was the news that killed me on the inside.
“Sir, you are diagnosed with stage 2 lung cancer. You must receive surgical help immediately.”
“But I never smoked in 5 years!” I was barely audible over the huge uproar in my own mind.
“Sir, there is a huge concentration of tobacco smoke found in your lungs. Tobacco smoke contains more than 70 different cancer-causing substances. These chemicals enter your lungs and spread around the rest of your body. These chemicals can damage DNA and change important genes. Are you sure you have not smoked for 5 years? As a professional doctor, I highly doubt the value of truth in that statement.”
It turns out, my saviour had also been my killer. All these while I had been enjoying the sheer pleasures of my savory heaven, it had been destroying me little by little, and then all at once. Words could not escape my mouth even though my mind was screaming. It seemed as though there was a layer of invisible tape on my mouth, forcing it tight shut.
“Oh.”
It was all I could manage to mutter after what seemed like an age of silence.
I was officially diagnosed with stage 2 lung cancer, and I knew I was most likely going to die. We all know that. Cancer is the leading cause of death in the world, at 20%.
Even then, I was put under intensive care treatment and lost all my hair in chemotherapy. I was not allowed to see anyone during the periods of treatment. I didn’t get a lot better.
In fact, even after I was released from hospital and allowed for self medication at home, I still doubted the cause of my cancer. “Sweet tobacco treats”. That was all the wrapper said. I felt betrayed, like how a best friend turned their back against you. My stress reliever, my faithful companion for 5 years has given me an express ticket to death.
Just as I thought the medication worked, I had a relapse even worse than the first time. I would find myself breathless, wheezing for air. It became a daily process to cough blood, and I would get chest seizures once in a while. It scared me to know that I was dying, and it scared me more to know that I would probably not be able to see anyone healthily again. I returned to the hospital, this time as a permanent cancer patient.
It was a miserable journey, and I could not see the light. Everyday, I faced the same routine of injections and endless medication. I feared the chemotherapy machine, it was like a monster waiting to engulf me as a whole. It robbed me of all my jet black hair, and left me pale and more ill than ever. I hated every single moment of my life.
I received radiotherapy later on as my condition grew worse. I would often be found clutching my chest for air, and had to be rushed off for immediate resuscitation. The radiotherapy machine was like a black hole, engulfing me entirely and hindering any movement and was a great intrusion to my own space.
My condition was like a roller coaster ride, sometimes I would feel perfectly normal and on other days I couldn’t have wished more that I was dead. Just like all roller coaster rides, it would eventually come to an end. I was going to die, though I was not sure on how to perceive this news. Should I feel happy that my sufferings are coming to an end, or should I feel scared because I honestly don’t know what to expect? I wish there could be someone who could tell me how it feels like to die, but all those who have experienced death could not possibly tell me how it felt like anymore. I was lost.
I was also shut off from all forms of communication with the outside world. I was too weak to stand up on my own, and had to be accompanied by nurses 24/7. I was literally spoonfed during meals, and had to be walked to the restroom. They wouldn’t let anyone visit me, and I found myself staring at the same 4 walls every single day. My ward felt more like a prison cell.
I regretted my addiction, and I wished I never accepted the first sweet. I wish I wasn’t so drunk that night to accept whatever strangers had to offer me. It was too late.
I witnessed the condition of my own body deteriorating rapidly with time, the muscular biceps I once had sagged loose, the rosy colour in my cheeks drained to a pale ghastly colour. I could not recognize the man I see in the mirror.
Of course, I still clung on to whatever minimal amount of hope I still had, hoping that the doctor would one day announce that I would be able to step out and see my friends again. I had not seen any of my friends for three months.
But sometimes, when you have gone overboard there is nothing else you can do. I was announced the fourth and final stage of lung cancer on the 21st of July, 2080. I knew I had lost all hope of survival, it was only a matter of time.
I decided that if I were to die I would want to die at home, so that’s where they sent me.
Home, at last. It was the least I could expect, and probably the last time I will experience the happiness of home again.
I lift up my head and gasped desperately for air.
Except, I never did catch my last breath.
; 