I knew it upset him not being able to see me. It worried me that he’d think I’d stopped loving him. But what could I do? Seeing me completely bald, no eye-brows, sickly and gaunt looking, it wouldn’t have been right for a wee lad. Since my last treatment, my hair had grown back, and I’d put most of my weight loss back on (and even a bit more). I just couldn’t wait to see my grandson for the first time since I had started the chemo and radiotherapy treatments. My son and his wife were spending the day with friends, leaving Patrick and me to some quality grandson and gramps time together. We’d spent hours just playing, laughing, and watching films together until I was pretty exhausted. Amid all the fun we’d been having, I’d gone without nicotine for several hours now … “Now you sit here, Little man, and watch your cartoons while Granddad goes for a smoke.” “Please, Granddad, please don’t smoke. I don’t like it.” “It’s okay, Patrick, I’m going outside to keep all the smelly smoke out of the house.” The look on his face told me his reaction had nothing to do with the smell of cigarette smoke. I sat beside him on the couch, putting an arm around his shoulder. “What’s up little buddy?” “I’ve missed you. I don’t want you to be ill again.” It was beginning to make sense now. “Aww, you don’t have to worry about that. It was something quite different that made me ill. The smoking won’t make it come back.”
He stared at me. I could see he was trying not to cry. “Smoking’s bad for you. It makes you have cancer.” That last bit startled me. The little lad was only six, but he already knew the word cancer. He certainly didn’t know exactly what it meant, but clearly, he knew it was bad. By now it was me trying not to cry. “Smoking didn’t cause my cancer, Patrick, really it didn’t.” I held him a little tighter, hoping that might reassure him. He was having none of it. “Promise you won’t smoke again. Please, Granddad … I don’t want you to die.” By now, the wee lad was sobbing. Now you all know the feeling: You feel your throat tightening, and a screwing up of the eyes as they fill with tears. You breathe a little harder. You take an almost ‘gulp-like swallow, and then another. All the while, that ‘welling up’ feeling overcomes you, right down to the pit of your stomach. “You win. I promise.” I’ve not smoked since …
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