What The Fuckery

I’ve always been a people pleaser, a peacekeeper. And so, I’ve kept my mouth shut about recent events, not because they don’t infuriate me, but because I have a lot of friends and family with different view points, and I don’t want to ruffle any feathers. But today, something I was reading reminded me of the old saying, silence is consent. And I do not consent. So, I’m breaking my silence.

It’s hard to believe it’s only been 37 days. The sheer chaos has made it feel like so much longer, and I think that’s probably the entire point. I haven’t agreed with much that has happened during this time. So much of it seems petty (renaming the Gulf of Mexico). But much of it should be taken so seriously – banning news organizations for not using the name Gulf of America, despite them being international organizations, blaming disasters on DEI with absolutely no proof or investigation, pulling down recognition of women on government websites, pardoning all the January 6th insurrectionists, blaming Ukraine for starting the war with Russia. And as much as I hate all of that (and oh so much more), there are a few things that have been particularly troubling to me because I don’t understand how some people don’t see them for the blazing red flags that they are to me.

I’m an independent. I lean left because of social issues. But I also believe this country should be fiscally conservative. We should spend only what we have. How much we tax people and what we spend that money on is up for debate, but we should not be spending more than we take in (because of the debt we’ve gotten ourselves into, we actually need to be spending drastically less than we make for a while).

And so, if Donald Trump managed to actually balance the budget for the first time in nearly 30 years, I would have to give the man a lot of credit. But the utterly haphazard way he and his billionaire BFF have been going about it is insanity. There is no planning. No forethought. No consideration for the aftermath. And then they scramble to undo half the things they did when they realize the shit storm it’s about to unleash. Firing (and I can’t underscore this enough) essential nuclear security employees – people who are literally responsible for all the nuclear weapons and nuclear waste in this country. Canceling aid to foreign countries that, in addition to being devastating for the people in those countries, also impacts thousands of Americans citizens and businesses. It’s resulted in the layoff of at least 13000 workers (some estimates have the number at 4 times that) and billions of dollars of revenue taken out of American farms. Firing, not laying off, thousands of veterans, who have spent their lives serving this country in one way or another, and then blaming it on their performance, again with no evidence whatsoever. Defunding the First Responders healthcare program in New York City for all of the people impacted by the Twin Towers coming down on 9/11 – many of who have developed debilitating diseases as a result of running into collapsed buildings to try to rescue survivors. How do America First people not see this as hurting America, too? And some of our most dedicated Americans at that.

But then, while he’s doing all of this to try to save money, and Republicans propose a bill to reduce spending by $2 trillion over 10 years, he turns around and cuts taxes by twice as much. Very balanced.

And then there are the tariffs being enacted against our neighbors. One of which has been our closest ally for the past hundred years. Who he has also threatened to annex. And has not ruled out to do that by economic or military means. We know first hand how mad, and scared, Canadians are. Ontario has vowed to stop ordering products from American companies whenever possible, especially those from red states. Supermarkets have separated all American products to their own sections and labeled them as such, and are being boycotted in droves. Remember when we got mad at France for opposing the Iraq war (a war that many Americans eventually also came to oppose) and idiot Americans stopped buying French dressing and French’s Mustard (despite them all being made in the US) and started calling French fries freedom fries (insert the biggest of eye rolls here) as a big fuck you to France that had absolutely no impact on them whatsoever? It’s like that, except, the Canadians actually know what they’re doing. But they are also scared that their neighbor, their closest friend, will declare war on them to get what it (and by it, I mean he) wants.

But even if you don’t give a shit about Canadians and their hurt feelings, history tells us that the tariffs are going to be economically disastrous. For us. I get the intention. But the truth is, America doesn’t have what it needs in place to produce all those things that we want to tariff other countries for. Canada provides 60% of our crude oil. And we’re paying an extra 10% for that now. Which is going to increase the cost of literally everything. And in less than a week, he’s planning to enact 25% tariffs on everything else from Canada and Mexico. That means building materials like lumber and steel, car parts, plastic products, and food imports are all going to go up at least 25%. For some items, made from steel, the material and items cross the border 3 or more times before being finished. With Canada enacting reciprocal tariffs, that could result in some products increasing 75% just because of this silly fucking game.

Again, I ask, how is this good for America? Prices will increase, people will either spend less money or go into more debt, trade will slow, the entire global economy will be affected. People will lose their jobs. Sounds like a fantastic plan.

Declaring himself a king, is almost, but not the most disturbing thing he’s done so far. The White House posting a fake magazine cover of him in a crown is something I never thought I would see in America. I mean, we pretty famously had a bit of a falling out with the last one. And we’re supposed to be all about freedom and representation and having a voice. The complete antithesis to a monarchy.

And don’t even get me started on him asking for 50% of Ukraine’s resources to pay back the help we had already given them, with no promise of future support. Oh, and we want the war to end, but you won’t get back your land or become part of the UN either. So, for doing nothing but defend yourself, you get nothing, and Russia gets everything for being the aggressor. You’re welcome. And I’m sure that will deter Russia from doing this again.

Which brings me to the biggest fucking red flag of them all. Two days ago, the UN held a vote. It didn’t really do anything. No measures were taken as a result of it. It was basically just a show of hands to see who was aligned together in condemning Russia in it’s unprovoked invasion of Ukraine. There have been other votes like this in the past 3 years that Ukraine has been defending itself. The US always voted with Ukraine, and all of Europe. It’s allies. But this time, we voted with, among others, North Korea and Russia. A dictatorship and a country lead by a man whos way of dealing with his detractors is to have them imprisoned or murdered. A man Donald Trump seems to greatly admire.

And so, I have a question for all of Trump’s die hard supporters. Is there a line? Is there any lie he can tell that you don’t excuse? Is there any executive order that you would ever find unacceptable? Is there any freedom he could infringe that you would deem unamerican? Is there anything this man can do that will have you step back and reconsider your support of him? Because if repeating Russian propaganda like an infatuated or brain washed (I don’t know which is scarier) idiot and siding with an authoritarian autocrat over our allies who value many of the same freedoms and principals we do, isn’t crossing a line, I can’t see how you possibly have one.

Float On

A little over a year ago, I called my doctor to tell her that I hadn’t had a period for several months.  She prescribed progesterone, like all the times I had called her before with the same problem.  Only this time, for the first time, it didn’t work.

So she sent me to get some blood work and prescribed a different form of the same drug.  The good news was, I wasn’t going through menopause at 37.  The bad news was, they still didn’t know what was wrong with me, and the drugs still weren’t working.

So she sent me to get more extensive blood work, and an ultrasound, and prescribed a double dose of the first medication.  My hormones were completely normal, the drugs still didn’t work, but they saw  “something” in my uterus on the ultrasound.

She had me come into the office so they could fill my uterus with saline and do another ultrasound to get a better look at what was in there.  But my cervix wouldn’t close, so the saline just kept coming back out, and they only got a slightly better view.  There were several small masses.

She suggested surgery, to remove whatever was in my uterus – possibly fibroids, possibly calcified tissue.  Calcification terrified me more than anything, for some reason, almost like my uterus was such an unused barren wasteland that it was literally turning to stone.  My friend Jen and I spent a giggly night creating a whole story about my reabsorbed twin, Brock, hiding out in my uterus for 37 years and coming back for revenge after I’d have him removed.  It was morbidly therapeutic.

Nearly 9 months after my initial call to my doctor, and more than a year since my last period, I had day surgery – basically a d&c with the added removal and biopsy of the foreign object residing in my womb.

It turned out to be cysts.  The fuckers that had been plaguing me since I was 15 had now decided to start raising hell in a new part of my body.  The biopsy came back normal.  Nothing to worry about.  Huge weight off my shoulders.  No cancer, no metamorphosis into The Thing.  All was good.  Until 3 months later when, once again, I had to call my doctor to report, you guessed it, no periods.

She prescribed meds.  Didn’t work.  She had me get blood work.  Normal.  So she decided to try 2 drugs, estradiol for 35 days with progesterone added for the last 10 days and ordered some more extensive blood work and an ultra sound.  When the nurse called with my results (normal, and a couple small cysts on my ovary, but nothing abnormal in my uterus), she said the doctor wanted me to come in for a follow up after I was finished with the meds.  A week later, they called saying my doctor has spoken to the resident oncologist (alarm bells), and he suggested another endometrial biopsy, even though I had had one with my surgery 6 months earlier.  Okay.  They were just being cautious.

The biopsy procedure is not pleasant.  I had had one about a decade ago when starting fertility treatment, and it was something I was hoping to never repeat.  They basically stick a curette (think small melon baller) through your cervix and scrape off some of your uterine lining.  Sounds pretty simple, but just the insertion of the curette was enough to make my ass come up off the table.  The scraping was excruciating.  They never told me to take any meds the first time I had it done.  This time they told me I could take Advil or they could prescribe something.  I hate drugs, and I would have needed a ride and not been able to go back to work, so I opted for Advil.  Big mistake.

Last night, the night before my follow up/biopsy appointment, I started spotting.  Great sign, I thought.  The drugs had finally worked.  But why, if my body is producing plenty of estrogen, did I need to take more of it to get my body to function correctly?

In the shower this morning, I wondered if the doctor would want to put me back on birth control.  Ugh.  I hate birth control.  It made me moody, and made me gain weight (like I fucking need that) and made my blood pressure go up (or that).  Plus there’s the whole, no possibility of getting pregnant thing.  Not that I have much of a chance, but there is still a chance, no matter how infinitesimally small, and even if I have mostly come to terms with likely never having kids.  But I thought maybe I could do it for now, and then, if I lost weight (which would hopefully help my hormones function properly), or we saved up enough for IVF in the future, I could stop taking it.

While sitting in the waiting room, a couple came in with their newborn.  The mom was bigger than me, and I thought, she had a baby, so can I.

When the nurse brought me into the exam room, she said the doctor might want to do a biopsy.  I thought, maybe because I had started spotting, they wouldn’t need to.  No such luck.  And while the biopsy was, once again, horrific – and I, once again, almost passed out – that was not the worst part of my appointment.  Before we even got to the biopsy, she read me the oncologist’s response to the email she has sent him, because she was worried about me.  She didn’t know why my body wasn’t working.  Usually, this type of thing happens when there is scar tissue from d&cs or other trauma, and it’s keeping the lining from building up and/or sloughing off.  But I had had no trauma, and the only d&c I had ever had had been the one she performed 6 months earlier.

Unfortunately, when your body doesn’t do what it’s supposed to, like, slough off the uterine lining, it’s more likely to develop precancerous, and then cancerous, cells.  And since mine wasn’t working, and the drugs couldn’t make it work, coupled with my PCOS and “type III obesity” (ie, really fat), the oncologist suggested the Mirena IUD (a hormonal birth control inserted into the uterus) or a hysterectomy.  The doctor said that the IUD would hopefully work, keeping any tissue from building up, and therefore, cancerous cells from forming.  And while the hysterectomy was a more permanent solution, I would never have to worry about it again.

The word hysterectomy hit me like a fucking baby grand piano.  It had never entered my mind.  Any semblance of having come to terms with not having children with which I had managed to delude myself was completely wiped away at that word.

I managed to keep it together, probably because I was so dumbstruck, until she left the room so I could get undressed for the biopsy.  While waiting for her to come back in, I had to fight back tears.  I did not want to lose it in front of her.  When she came back in, she told me she would get me more information on both options, so I could make a decision.  I couldn’t talk about it any more.  I just said okay, and laid back on the table so she wouldn’t be able to see me if I cried.

The biopsy obliterated all thinking for several minutes.  And even though all I wanted to do after it was run the fuck out of there before having a complete breakdown, I had to lie down for several minutes until the urge to pass out went away.  Sometimes, I hate my fucking body.  Okay, mostly, I hate my fucking body.  For, oh, so many reasons.

I managed to keep it together until I got half way home.  There was a bit of silent crying at a couple of red lights.  I saved the full blown breakdown for when I got home.

I’m angry at my body for, once again, letting me down, as it has so, so many time before.  But I’m also angry at myself for letting my body down.  I haven’t taken care of it the way I should, and so, I am, once again, blaming myself for not doing whatever I needed to do to prevent this from happening.  Nick pointed out that there are plenty of fat women who have perfectly functioning lady bits.  But I still feel at fault.  I will always wonder if making better decisions would have prevented me from being where I now find myself.

I’m sure you can tell which way I am leaning.  But I don’t know if I’m making a rational decision.  Am I avoiding a hysterectomy only so that I can stubbornly hold out hope for something that is very unlikely to ever happen?  Am I avoiding actually coming to terms with not having children?  Until today, I really thought I was okay with surrogacy or adoption.  Now, I don’t know if I’m really not, or if what I’m really struggling with is having the choice taken away from me.

We have some questions for the doctor (if I had known the seriousness of the appointment, I would have had Nick go with me.  He’s so much better at thinking of the right questions to ask while we’re there).  How much will the IUD reduce my risk of developing cancer?  Will losing weight also reduce my risk, and if so how much?

Nick said the final decision is up to me.  And that as long as the IUD and/or weight loss significantly reduce the cancer risk, he’s all for that.  But if they only slightly reduce the risk, that’s not good enough.  He said he can spend the rest of his life without ever having kids, but he cannot spend the rest of his life without me.  If I have ever done anything right in my life, it was surely marrying that man.

For now, I’m in limbo.  I have to wait until Monday to call the doctor with my questions.  And then wait again for answers.  In the meantime, I feel like I’m just…floating.

When You Try Your Best But You Don’t Succeed

It’s back.  I can feel it.  It’s standing on the other side of the door.  The door I locked and barred and barricaded long ago.  It’s pressing on that door, looking for the weak point, the spot that will give and let it come crashing in.  And while it searches, it’s snaking its tendrils through the cracks and crevasses.  It’s wrapping those tendrils tight, round and round, and pulling me down.

I can feel it in the weariness that goes all the way to my bones.  Even after a full nights sleep, I often wake up more exhausted than I felt when my head hit the pillow.  By the end of my work day, I’m on fumes.  Cooking dinner or doing a load of laundry feel like more than I can handle.  Sometimes I do them anyway.  Sometimes I just can’t.  By the end of the week, I can barely get out of bed in the morning.  On the weekends, I usually nap, even though I sleep in.  I never quite feel rested.

I can see it on the scale.  My stomach is a greedy hollow, never satisfied, always asking for more.  And exercise would require far more energy than I can muster.  I have gained back (yet again) 8 of the 10 pounds I managed to lose.  All my clothes are tight.  Everything on my body feels swollen and bloated.

I recognize it in my inability to get or stay motivated about…anything.  It took me weeks to plant my vegetables this year.  We’re not talking about acres of rototilling and planting and weeding. It was 15 plants, in pots, on my back porch. The drawing I’m working on remains unfinished.  My writing has been nonexistent.  My house is a mess.  New endeavors never seem to make it past the planning stage.  And I often even avoid thinking about things, choosing instead to play games on the internet.

I know it in the way I am isolating myself from everyone.  I’m not spending as much time with my dad.  I haven’t made plans with friends in months.  Even online, I lurk, scanning through what everyone else is doing (and sometimes not even that), rarely commenting or posting anything myself.  I play games with strangers, or with no one at all.

It’s obvious in the way I am even more sensitive than usual.  I find myself tearing up over the littlest things.  Perhaps worst of all, I’ve found myself feeling jealous of people on recent occasions, instead of being happy for them.  It’s a terrible feeling that I pushed out of myself more than a decade ago.  To feel it creeping back in both terrifies and enrages me.

But mostly, I can feel it in the hopelessness that envelopes me.  I’ve always been a dreamer.  I’ve always thought life would eventually work out for us, that it was only a matter of time.  But lately, it’s been hard to hang on to my assurance that the life I want is coming, if only I continue to be patient and work hard. I’ve worked hard, and been patient, but it hasn’t been enough, and time is running out.

I’m trying to shake off the tendrils, but it isn’t easy.  Once they take hold, they cling so very tightly.  I don’t want to go back on medication that makes me apathetic.  I don’t want to not care.

I’m fighting, but some days, it’s so hard.  Some days, I pull myself up only to be dragged further down. Some days, I get knocked down, and it’s too much effort to stand back up.  Some days, the void is too wide and too deep to see a way across.

But I’m fighting.

Back And Forth Through My Mind Behind A Cigarette

Nick was already a smoker when I met him.  He had started when he was only 15.  Just a few a day at first, while in high school.  Then a pack a day.  Eventually, a carton a week.

I always hated that he smoked.  His clothes sometimes smelled like stale cigarette smoke and kissing him within 10 minutes of smoking a cigarette was similar to what I imagine licking an ashtray must taste like (I never understood how anyone could get past that smell and flavor enough to smoke a second cigarette).  But mostly I hated it because I knew it wasn’t good for him, and so did he.  We are not slim or active individuals, and smoking on top of that put him at so much risk for…just about everything.  But I knew that he wasn’t ready to give up smoking.  Being a life-long dieter, I had learned from experience that if you do something you aren’t ready to do, just to make someone else happy, it won’t stick.  So even though I wanted him to not die a horrible, preventable death, I never asked him to quit.  I told myself he would do it when he was ready.  Maybe when we had kids (…).

When we moved into our new house, I asked him not to smoke inside.  I had grown up in a house where everyone smoked except me.  I hated the way everything smelled, including my clothes (my doctor once asked me if I started smoking, because my shirt reeked).  And it left a residue on everything (clothes hanging in the closet that went unworn for a long period of time would develop sickly yellowish brown lines down the sides of them (I can only imagine what my lungs looked like).  We compromised, and he switched to a different type of cigarette (it steamed the tobacco instead of burned it) that didn’t make the entire house stink of stale smoke and leave a gross film on everything (they smelled like burning paper, and that smell disappeared as soon as it was out).  The company said they were not claiming they were a healthier cigarette, but the science did show that people who smoked them got less of…just about everything that comes out of a cigarette (including nicotine).  They cost 25% more than regular cigarettes, but I didn’t care.  It was a step in the right direction.

His mom asked him to quit a few times.  She bought him the gum one year for Christmas (he could not stand the taste of it), and the patch another (it made his arm tingle while he was sleeping, which scared the crap out of both of us).  And he even tried cold turkey a couple times.  It made him angry and even more stressed out than usually.  All.  The.  Time.  And then there was the issue with not having anything to occupy his hands and mouth while not smoking.  It drove him insane.  He tried gum and lollipops and carrot sticks, and it just wasn’t enough to keep his mind from focusing on what wasn’t there.  Plus (and this I have never been able to wrap my head around), he enjoyed smoking, and he missed it.  It was just too much pressure on his already overworked, overstressed, overburdened life.  I think the record was 3 days.

We had lived in our house for 8 years when my father went to the doctor for his yearly check-up, and they had trouble getting a blood pressure reading from his left arm.  A smoker for over 50 years (he started at the ripe old age of 12), he was diagnosed with Peripheral Artery Disease in his neck and arm.  That was when I did something I swore I would never do – asked Nick to quit smoking.  Seeing the toll smoking had taken on my father scared the hell out of me.  Nick had already been smoking for close to 20 years and I knew the longer he smoked, the harder it was going to be for him to quit – and the higher the price his body would eventually pay.

I made up a spreadsheet with a list of all the things he would be able to afford if he quit smoking (20 movies on iTunes or 2 pairs of Vans a week; the monthly payment for a Civic SI; enough gas to drive to LA and back…7 times a year).  But he still wasn’t ready.  He was still under a lot of pressure and he still (guh) enjoyed smoking.  But he knew how worried I was about his health.  So he decided to try vaping.  (And if I’m being honest, the fact that vaping is much cheaper than smoking played a large part.)

A little about vaping, for those that have no idea what I’m talking about.  Vaping allows someone to get nicotine without smoking a cigarette.  A vaper (person) uses a vaporizer [aka PV (personal vaporizer), mod, or electronic cigarette) to heat a liquid [vegetable glycerin (VG) or propylene glycol (PG)] containing nicotine and some flavoring (aka juice) to create vapor (ethereal cloud), which they then inhale, delivering the nicotine into their body without the smoke and carcinogens.  Unlike the patch and gum, it allows vapers (people) to occupy their mouths and hands in much the same way they do when they smoke a cigarette.  Okay, back to the story.

Nick immersed himself in the online vaping community, which is kind of amazing.  Although there can sometimes be a bit of drama, bitchiness and cliquey-ness, they are generally incredibly supportive of each other and willing to help new people with anything they need (kinda reminds me of roller derby).  They are also incredibly vigilant about making sure manufacturers are responsible and safe (they are, as a group, the most knowledgeable – and vocal – consumers I have ever seen).  He watched videos and talked to people and read.  And made me watch videos and read.

But still, he struggled.  The juice he started out with had too much nicotine.  He had trouble finding juice flavors he liked.  The mods he used at first didn’t feel right in his hands.  The VG/PG ratio he used in the beginning gave him headaches.  Then it was the dehydration.  A couple of jerks in the online community pissed him off.  After a couple months of struggling, he got frustrated and gave up.  Smoking was just…easier.

Several months later, I bugged him about it again.  I hate being a naggy wife, but this wasn’t leaving his socks in the living room, it was his life.  He decided to give it another shot.  He reconnected with the community, tried lots of juices until he found a bunch he liked, found smaller mods that kept his hands busy, changed his VG/PG ratio and drank tons of water.  And, probably most importantly, he changed his outlook.  Instead of being frustrated that he still needed to smoke cigarettes at certain times (first thing in the morning and after dinner were especially tough for him), he started concentrating on how many cigarettes he hadn’t smoked that day.  It was a little mind boggling seeing that number (and the money savings) add up.

Eventually, he found a juice that he liked with his morning coffee.  And then one night, he told me that he had only two cigarettes left.  He was going to smoke one that night, after dinner, and one the next.  And that was it.  He wasn’t buying any more.  When the dogs went ballistic and interrupted him the first night, he was a bit cranky.  The next night, he told me if he didn’t get to smoke his last cigarette ever in peace, he was going to go buy another pack.  I made sure the dogs stayed calm.

That was a year ago, today.  I was so proud of him (and happy and relieved) when he stopped smoking completely.  It took time, and effort, and determination for him to stick with it.  Lighting a cigarette takes seconds.  Vaping requires forethought, and planning, and lots of investigation and trial and error to find a set up that works.  I’m even more proud of him for sticking with it for a whole year (blowing his previous record of 3 days – 3 horrible, miserable, I-didn’t-know-he-could-be-that-much-of-a-dick days – out of the water).  In the last year, I’ve seen his smoker’s cough go away and his sense of taste come back.  I’ve watched him try to help my parents quit smoking (my mom now vapes during the day and smokes at night.  My dad, who needs to quit smoking more than either of them, is still…resistant).  I’ve noticed his sensitivity to second hand smoke (and mine) go way up.  Our house no longer smells like burning paper.  Now it usually smells like fruit.

***                    ***                    ***

As proud as I am of him, his anniversary isn’t the only reason I’m writing this.  He and I both know that without vaping, it probably would’ve been years before he quit smoking, if he was ever able to.  And without it, he will likely not stay a non-smoker.  But unfortunately, vaping is being targeted, at the community level, at the state level, and federally.  A lot of communities are pushing (and many have succeeded) for vapers to be restricted to smoking areas, the worst place for them.  Would it be smart (or kind) to hold an AA meeting in a bar?  Some communities are even trying to kick vape stores out of their towns, while still allowing tobacco shops to remain open.  Earlier this year, New York State proposed a law to ban the sale of juice (it was not passed).  And federally, the proposed legislation will cause so much red tape for manufacturers, that most of them (almost all those who are not part of the tobacco industry) will no longer be able to afford to create products.

Some of this is because people are scared of the health risks.  Is vaping 100% safe?  No, and no one is claiming that it is.  Is it safer than tobacco?  Absolutely.  Cigarettes contain at least 81 carcinogens, e-liquids contain trace amounts of a few of them.  There hasn’t been a lot of scientific study on the health effects of vaping yet, and it’s so new, there are no life-long vapers to see what tolls it may take on someone who does it for 40 years.  But why, if buying, selling and consuming tobacco, which is far worse for one’s health, is still legal, should it be illegal to buy, sell or consume vaping products?

Some of the proposed legislation is because some people feel vaping is targeting kids.  They argue fruity flavored juices should not be legal, because it will make vaping more desirable to children, and only tobacco flavored juice should be available (because only kids would prefer the taste of an apple over an ashtray).  Yet, vodka now comes in an array of fruit flavors, which is perfectly acceptable.  (I would also argue that anyone who makes a living selling vaping products would be insane to sell to a kid, and they know it.  It would put their entire business at risk.  A lot of stores card at the door, and will not admit anyone under 18.)

Should there be some regulation?  Yes.  Nicotine is a drug, and it is being ingested, so, yes, there have to be some safeguards put in place.  But it should not be regulated to the point that the industry will almost completely collapse, leaving only the crappy products sold by companies that made their billions selling the very thing vapers are trying to get away from.  The regulations should be created and enacted in a way that will allow the hundreds of companies and stores in this country to continue to support the community they serve.

In the mean time, the industry has taken some steps of their own.  There is already a voluntary association to monitor juice manufacturing (manufacturers who join have to meet the standards set by the association, and can then label their products as such, to let consumers know).  And the community is not shy about calling out any manufacturer doing anything (using non-child proof bottles, packaging that looks like it’s made for kids, putting food coloring or other unnecessary additives into juices, etc) that is bad for the industry.  They know it’s in their own best interest.

Many vapers, like my husband, may never have quit smoking if vaping was not an option.  Many of them tried the gums and the patches and the drugs (my father tried wellbutrin once.  He got to feel suicidal while smoking 2 packs a day) and still ended up smoking for years.  People who smoked for 30, 40, 50 years, finally quit.  And if vaping is no longer an option, what will happen to the majority of them?

I’m obviously biased.  But I’m also rational and logical.  And as long as tobacco is still readily available, vaping needs to be, too.