Smokin'!
I have a soft spot for smokers. I smoked for twenty plus years but decided that I wasn’t going to be smoking at forty, so I quit. Sounds so easy. It was so not.
I was rehashing history a while ago with my sister who went with me on one of my many, oh, and I do so mean many, attempts to quit. We went to a hypnotist. I laid back on the couch, my sister sat protectively in a chair behind the hypnotist. He started his soothing talk, swinging a gold object in front of me like a pendulum. You are relaxed (how much did this cost again?) your eyes are getting heavy (what time do I have to be at work?) you are getting slllleeeeppppeeee (better get gas and then take Steph home). This went on for about thirty minutes. I can’t really recall what he said, but I did manage to make a complete grocery and to-do list for the rest of the week. My sister, however, a non-smoker, has no intention of smoking ever again. I remember semi-jogging to the exit in order to light up. I tried Zyban which I nicknamed the Rage Drug because it made me just plain angry. I tried the gum but that just upset my stomach and made me burp. I tried cold turkey but the irritability factor was off the chart, and everyone was throwing cigarettes at me by the end of the first day. I don’t think, looking back, that I really wanted to quit. I enjoyed smoking. I enjoyed everything about it….except the way it made my clothes and hair smell. Rituals revolved around cigarettes, my day, my plans, my involvement all incorporated the minimum standard of one hour between cigarettes. Sitting down in a comfy chair, chatting on the phone with a cup of coffee or tea….ah. Yeah. I loved it.
No amount of “filthy habit” “licking an ashtray” “nail in the coffin” clichés affected me. In fact, it usually made me want to go calm myself or simply just escape with a cigarette. Newsflash! People who smoke…know the ramifications. Anything you tell them, they have heard a million times before. Guilt does not work! I told myself for years that I could quit any time, in fact, I would quit any time smoking impeded my physical activities. I was always able to shimmy around that one. I was addicted. It was the actual product but it was the lifestyle as well. I enjoyed it.
It wasn’t until I started feeling shame. Shame that for all my efforts to make an individual statement against corporations, I was being controlled by one. I was ashamed that I smoked. I decided February 14, 2001 that I would quit with the help of the patch. My husband who was dipping (gag) snuff (hard to imagine that now but oh well) decided to quit too. He was going through almost 2.5 cans a day, which is like six packs of cigarettes. I was petrified because I really felt that this was it, for whatever reason, I didn’t believe that anything else would work for me so I had to succeed. It was a Valentine’s Day gift for my children, my husband and myself. I prayed a lot the night before. Lance used another means to keep him on track..besides the two patches, that is. He is more financially motivated than I am so he started putting the money that he spent on dip and cigarettes in a jar. In less than a week, we had eighty eight dollars in the jar. 88 dollars? In five days? What the heck? No way. But the math was right.
It was not easy. All of my rituals had to be changed. Gone were the days of getting a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Gone were the enjoyable conversations on the phone with my feet up and a cigarette continuously lit by my side. Going and doing something was pretty key – I chose to walk the dogs, instead of smoking. After a couple of days, the dogs, seriously fatigued, looked at me with utter dread when I would grab the leashes. I personally think they were making an effort to avoid me, but that could have been withdrawal. It’s easy to say, oh and after day three it was so much better, because that’s true. But I never thought day three would ever get here. Heck, I didn’t think hour one would ever end! Lance and I started jokingly slapping at the patch like heroin addicts trying to find a vein – come on, work! I was surprised that we were able to do it together. I thought for sure that we would be at each other’s throats. Especially me, since I am the more “passionate” ok, ok, high strung of the two. Three days, literally, felt like a month. It was excruciating.
Once you have finally, finally kicked the physical habit, the mental habit next. “Glory day-ing” the smoking days was huge with me. Ah! Just finished a meal, wouldn’t a cigarette be perfect right now (sigh). Oh! Driving in the car for a long distance, sure could use a cigarette. Every situation brought with it behaviors and habits. I got to a point in March where I could no longer resist the driving desire to just have one more. I got hold of one and like a kid, sneaked around to the side of the house and lit it up, ultra sensitive to any noises, sure that I would get busted. I took a drag. Ah. Joy. Bliss. Heaven. Headache. Nausea. Blaach! I was so ill. All day. Green. It took me back to the beach when Kxx Pxxxx gave me my first cigarette at sixteen, a freakin’ menthol Virginia Slim, smoked it, and got violently ill while sitting then lying on top of some stud guy’s car. Horrible. Best thing I ever did. Not the Virginia Slim, but the sneaked one. Because the glory days ended. Back to reality. I have not craved one since.
One of my main concerns about becoming an ex-smoker was, frankly, becoming an ex-smoker. I’m not real keen on waving my hand in front of my nose, eye rolling and coughing as a smoker passes. The rudeness of that kind of snotty action mortifies me. I remember how I felt when others judged me and I didn’t want to make someone feel that way. Like my mom. My mom smokes and probably always will. I didn’t want to avoid being around her because she smoked. Too high a price if you ask me. I think I would probably have started smoking again if I had an adverse reaction like that.
Lance and I have been tobacco free for almost five years. And here’s my point. Whatever your feelings are about smoking are your feelings, but try to keep in mind that smokers shouldn’t be defined by a vice. My mom is so much more than that. She is a kind, caring, loving, gifted and thoughtful person who just happens to smoke. Don’t look down your nose at people who smoke, especially the polite ones. They are having a hard enough time not feeling like social pariahs as it is. Next time you see someone standing outside a building next to the only ashtray, trying to avoid the freezing rain and driving wind, smile kindly at her. It’ll make her day.