By Mark DaCosta- I am writing this from a position of forced stillness — a stillness not born of peace, but of necessity. As I sit here, every ounce of my concentration is funneled into a single, basic biological function that most people perform without a second thought: breathing.
I have Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD). It is a clinical name for a relentless thief that steals your air, your energy, and eventually, your independence. I am sharing my story today because I am currently in the grip of a common cold, an ailment that most would consider a minor seasonal nuisance. For me, however, a simple cold is a high-stakes battle for survival.
The Ghost of Youthful Choices
My journey to this breathless state began decades ago. In my youth, I was a heavy smoker. At the time, the habit felt like a rite of passage, a social lubricant, or perhaps just a way to steady the nerves. We often view our youth as a period of invincibility, treating our bodies as though they have an infinite capacity for repair. We tell ourselves we will quit “eventually,” or that the horror stories we hear about lung disease are reserved for someone else.
I am here to tell your readers that “someone else” is me. The bill for those years of heavy smoking, 2 packs per day, has come due, and the interest rate is devastating. COPD is not a sudden accident; it is a slow-motion erosion of the lungs. By the time you truly feel the damage, the foundation of your respiratory system has already crumbled.
Living with “The Struggle”
To live with COPD is to live in a world that has become perpetually uphill. Imagine trying to breathe through a thin cocktail straw while someone is squeezing your chest with a heavy belt. That is my daily reality. I don’t want anyone else to experience this.
In my professional life as a writer and analyst, I am used to dealing with complex theories and intricate political landscapes. I have a Master’s degree in physics; I understand the mechanics of pressure and flow. But no amount of academic understanding can prepare you for the visceral, animalistic panic that sets in when your lungs refuse to expand.
On a “good” day, simple tasks — walking to the mailbox, preparing a meal, or even engaging in a spirited debate about Guyanese politics — require calculated pauses. You learn to “pursed-lip breathe,” a technique to keep the airways open longer, but it is a meager defense against a progressive disease.
The Current Crisis
Right now, the struggle is amplified. I have contracted a cold, and for a COPD patient, a respiratory infection is like throwing gasoline on a smoldering fire.
The inflammation has narrowed my already compromised airways. Each breath is a conscious, labored effort. The fatigue is bone-deep because my body is working ten times harder than yours just to oxygenate my blood. When you have COPD, you don’t just “get over” a cold; you fight an exhausting war against mucus, inflammation, and the terrifying sensation of drowning while standing still. It is a lonely, frightening experience that narrows your entire world down to the next four seconds of inhalation.
The Price We Pay
The central message I wish to convey to your readers — especially the young people who may currently be picking up a cigarette or a vape — is that the price of smoking is exorbitantly high. And just do it.
We often talk about the “cost” of smoking in terms of dollars and cents, or the statistics of life expectancy. But the real price is measured in the things you lose while you are still alive:
The loss of spontaneity: You can no longer go anywhere without wondering if there will be stairs or if the air will be too humid.
The loss of peace: You live with the constant, underlying anxiety of the next “flare-up.”
The burden on loved ones: You hate that your friends and family must watch you struggle, knowing they cannot give you the one thing you need: air.
There is a profound irony in spending your youth paying for something that eventually robs you of your ability to enjoy your senior years. We pay the price in every gasping breath and every missed opportunity.
A Plea to the Public
I am not writing for sympathy. I am writing as a cautionary tale. If you smoke, please understand that you are gambling with the most fundamental currency of life. You are trading your future “air” for a temporary habit.
The struggle I am currently enduring, huddled over as I fight this cold, is a direct consequence of the choices I made years ago. I cannot go back and talk to my younger self, but I can talk to you.
Please, do not wait for a diagnosis to value your lungs. Do not wait until you are counting your breaths to realiz
Se how precious they are. The price is too high, and the “satisfaction” of a cigarette is a lie that eventually leaves you bankrupt of breath.
I hope that by sharing this, even one person might decide to put down the pack. It is a difficult journey to quit, but I promise you, it is nowhere near as difficult as the journey of trying to live without enough air.
