Smoke From The Camp Fire Hangs Over Santa Rosa Forest
Last night I dreamt I was sitting in a room with a few friends when a man appeared in the doorway smoking a cigar. I screamed at him, trying to get him to understand how dangerous any amount of smoke is for me as a sufferer of respiratory disease. He just laughed at me and entered the room anyway, puffing away as a huge cloud of smoke encircled his head. I woke myself up screaming.
Half of my bedding was on the floor. My right foot was missing a sock. I sat on the edge of the bed trying to catch my breath. The muscles in the back of my head were tight as the front of my head felt as if it would explode. The back of my throat was raw and it felt like I had an almond lodged in my throat. I shivered the way one shivers when fighting the flu. Any attempt to dislodge the imaginary almond led to throwing up mucus.
None of this was foreign to me. This was what I had to go though my entire adult life when exposed to secondhand cigarette smoke. But as laws changed, I had been able to get away from the secondhand smoke to avoid the smoke from others. With this current wildfire, it feels like I am locked in the smoking room of some third world airport. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.