Glimpses of My Rearviewmirror: Cigarettes

This entry is cross-posted at my blog - www.opinionazi.com

I quit smoking cigarettes cold turkey on December 10th, 2007.  Partly because I’m single, and smoking is pretty unattractive to a vast majority of non-smokers.  I already have plenty of challenges attracting a suitable mate, why should I cripple myself further by smoking?  Partly because of the cost.  I was new to town and unemployed at the time and desperate for a job, and $4-5 a day for cigarettes was eating through what little funds I had.  Partly because of a bet my new roommate made with me when I first moved in, which was that I could not go 30 days without smoking a single cigarette.  $200 is a lot of money when you’re broke and unemployed!  But the overwhelming reason, and why it had to happen on December 10th is what follows...

I remember the day I started smoking.  I made a mental note of it - September 3rd, 2001.  It was a good day, a memorable day.  Can’t remember the occasion,  we were commemorating something or other, and I was not sober.  I smoked one, then another, then another.  Bought my first pack that same night and smoked the whole thing.  I enjoyed myself that night, somewhat excessively I should add.  The next day, I woke up and knew I would be a smoker.  For the next six years, not a day went by that I didn’t smoke at least a pack of cigarettes, and a few 3-pack days were sprinkled in there.  I never attempted to quit, and while I knew that one day I would have to quit, I never intended for that day to be December 10th.  I thought I would quit smoking when it was time to become a father, which is several years down the road.  Boy, was I wrong.

December 9th was a Sunday.  I don’t have to look it up because I remember it, and envision it every time the urge to have a cigarette attacks me.  My best friend was visiting me here in Tampa from Atlanta.  I had just moved, and he was delivering my bed in his truck and staying for a weekend of fun and debauchery.  And that it was.  I always smoked more when I was gambling, or drinking and that day I was doing both.  I don’t know how many cigarettes I smoked that day, but it was not less than 50.

Now, what I had learned over the years of smoking was that it entailed coughing.  Fits of heavy coughing were the norm and hours without coughing were the exception.  Small price to pay for delicious, delicious cigarettes.  So, when I woke up that night in a coughing fit, I was not surprised or worried.  It had happened many times before and it would happen again.  But the coughing became more belligerent and didn’t begin to subside as it normally would.  Not being able to stop coughing had happened a few times before and it was quite annoying as it robbed me of good sleep.  In extreme situations I had found that a very hot steamy 15-minute shower always helped clear up my lungs enough for me to go back to sleep.  This turned out to be one of those extreme situations.  I had now been coughing for at least five minutes straight and had tried drinking water, and now was climbing into the shower in the middle of the night.

The shower was always the last resort, the last refuge, and always the place where the coughing subsided and thoughts of quitting smoking became most adamant.  On that day the coughing did not subside in the shower.  Imagine coughing uncontrollably and unstoppably for not just a few minutes, but 10, then 15, then 20.  Coughing as if there is a solid object clinging to the inside of your lung that must be evacuated immediately for you to be able to breathe, to breathe normally, to breathe gloriously, and the only method of evacuation your body knows is coughing but the object remains.  Imagine not seeing an end to the coughing after it had continued for more than 30 minutes, and thinking that you are about to die because you can’t take a normal breath.  What stopped the coughing that night was tears.  Tears of pain and anguish and the pure hatred for everything that had brought this death sentence upon me.

The next day when I woke up my throat felt like a ruptured volcano that was still smouldering with pain and numbness.  I couldn’t smoke a cigarette on December 10th if I wanted to, but I knew I wouldn’t want to, ever again.

It wasn’t easy quitting, and there were times when I almost succumbed to the pressure and the battle continues.  I still love cigarettes, I still feel strong urges to smoke one from time to time, and still have nightmares about them.  Some customers at work have told me they quit decades ago and still feel that same urge.  But unlike most people who’ve tried to quit, I had a pretty fucking strong catalyst: an image of a violent, inescapable death that I associate with the act of taking a drag off of a cigarette.  Most people are not as lucky and so they have to depend on other catalysts, or no catalyst at all.  One guy even moved to Japan to quit.

Before I quit smoking, I really hated it when people tried to convince me to quit.  I felt all high and mighty about my right to suicide!  So I’m not going to attempt to convince you by elaborating all the reasons or enumerating the plethora of benefits it has given my life.  I’m just going to finish by stating one potent fact about you smokers who are reading this:  Some of you will live longer because you quit, and some of you will die sooner because you didn’t.  And you all can choose which category you belong to.

P.S.  If you are serious about quitting, I’ve heard good things about Chantix, and my brother used the patch.  Just do whatever you can, whatever you have to, or whatever you need to do to succeed.  Don’t let your catalyst be a near death experience that’s not so near.