As a writer I must sheepishly confess – I don’t drink coffee.

I’ve tried coffee (several times) and hot bean water just doesn’t do it for me.

I want to love tea. I mean, I love the idea of tea but, honestly, I can take it or leave it.

I’ve smoked maybe 10 cigarettes in my life. I didn’t hate it but had no urge to continue. I’ve even (don’t tell my children) sampled a few recreational drugs in my lifetime. For me, they were all “meh.”

I used to tell people that I just don’t have an addictive personality. I know what addiction looks like in both relatively harmless (Life Savers pep-o-mints) and more harmful (alcohol) forms. My father was a chain smoker and my brother is an alcoholic.

I’ve witnessed what their addictions did to them (my dad died of cancer and my brother looks and moves like a 100-year-old man). As my father lay dying he tried to sneak cigarettes even when he was tethered to an oxygen tank. I honestly don’t think he cared that he might blow himself (and us) to smithereens—he just wanted another smoke.

I’m on guard against forming addictions of my own. That’s probably why drugs and cigarettes never made it very high on my list of ‘must haves.’ Lucky for me, I never much liked the taste of alcohol. Beer? Ugh, bitter. Whiskey? Burns all the way down. Gin? Ick, like drinking stewed pine needles. Rum? Okay, that’s all sugar—mix it with some yummy fruit and stick a little paper umbrella in it and I can handle 1 or 2 of those.

 

 

I didn’t find my addiction until I started chemotherapy treatment for breast cancer. When going through chemotherapy, everything tasted like either metal or dirt. It was like sucking on dirty penny 24/7. If that wasn’t bad enough, my mouth filled with sores that made eating or drinking anything pure torture. I lost weight at an alarming rate. I remember sitting and crying while others ate; I was so miserable.

One day while desperately trying to find something that would cool the sores and hide the gross metallic taste that was always on my tongue, I tried a frozen coke.

One sip and Hallelujah, angels wept.

That sweet, sweet Coca-Cola syrup tasted exactly as it should and masked the chemo mouth. There was no carbonation to mess with my troubled tummy, and the coolness of the frozen concoction soothed and numbed my mouth sores. I began to live for the sweet relief of my next frozen coke.

And I discovered my addiction.

My chemo ended just over a year ago now and I still get a frozen Coke every day. Why? I’m not sure. Nostalgia? The memory of how good it made me feel when everything else felt terrible? Smarter minds than mine can research this. I’ll just enjoy my frozen cup of bliss.

When I’m banging away on my PC or laptop, writing my next historical romance, you’ll find me with my frozen angel at my side. Romance writing fueled by sugar and caffeine.