The worse thing about being a
non-smoker is….well, there isn’t one. Quitting was the second best thing I ever
did (after getting sober).
Today, September 3, 2017, marks ten
years since I put out my last cigarette or rather, flicked it out of my truck
window onto the highway.
I started at 11 years old. At
first, my brother, Chuck, and I smoked together. I loved smoking right out of
the gate. Mom and Dad both smoked Kools back then before they eventually
switched to Newport because they were “safer.” (They had heard that Kools had
fiberglass in the filter which made them more dangerous.) That irony notwithstanding,
Kool, and later, Newport became my brand. Early on, though, any brand would do.
And getting cigarettes was difficult. We had to come up with creative ideas.
Mom and Dad bought cartons and
neither kept track of what the other smoked. We relied on this and took
advantage of it. We’d slide a pack out of the open carton that was in the
cupboard and push the remaining packs forward so as to not expose the empty
slot. It was a masterful plan, but it didn’t work if the carton was either not yet
open or there were only a few packs left. Timing, therefore, was everything.
When stealing packs didn’t work,
we’d resort to stealing individual cigarettes. Nobody was exempt from our
theft. Nobody but Grandma Burroway, that is. We learned quickly not to mess
with her Pall Malls. She counted them! And I think she did so as a matter of
course, not because she was on to our game. The first time we stole from her,
she busted us and called us out. We never stole from her again.
More people smoked at that time, so
there was almost always a pack lying somewhere. The challenge was finding them
unattended and if not, finding a way to sneak one anyway. Chuck was better at
this than me. He could slide a cigarette out of someone’s pack right in front of
them simply by diverting their attention. It was amazing how he did this. Other
times, he could stand with his back toward the pack, hands behind him, and inconspicuously
slide one or two out and right into his pocket. We developed signals to
indicate our successes. Once we had the loot, we’d escape to a secret place to
enjoy, the garage, under the front porch or in one of the many makeshift cabins
we built to play in.
We’d have to get rid of the smell,
too. We were lucky because Mom and Dad, being smokers, couldn’t readily notice
the smell on us. However, we still had to be extra careful. Suffusing one’s
hands with the aroma of pine, by rubbing pine needles between them, seemed to
work well, at least in our minds.
Below are five things I’ve learned
from my smoking cessation journey:
ONE: Smoking is an addiction and I was the
quintessential addict.
As time passed back then, it was clear
that I was the addicted one. I needed the nicotine more frequently. Since I
wasn’t as good at sneaking them as Chuck was, I had to resort to other ways to
get my fix. I loved when people butted their cigarettes long. I could snatch
them from the ashtray and get at least a few more puffs out of them. How
wasteful they were, but how happy I was! I wonder if my mom ever wondered why I
was often so eager to empty the ashtrays.
Later, I resorted to even more
desperate measures to get my needed fix. I’d sometimes take a few butts from
the ashtray and tape them together. Yes, you read it correctly, Scotch
transparent tape. If you’ve never tasted burning plastic tape, you’re in for a
real treat. I can only imagine what those
chemicals did to my lungs. I also attempted tearing butts apart, saving the
tobacco and rolling makeshift cigarettes in regular tablet paper. In my most
desperate moment, I even crumbled and rolled dried leaves into paper and smoked
it. It was to no avail, though, due to the absence of nicotine.
I got caught, too, and often. Mom
never caught me but my oldest brother, Bill, did. He’d tell on me and I’d get
punished. Once I had to eat half of a cigar. It was awful, but I chewed and
swallowed it quickly. It didn’t deter me at all. I was destined to be an addict
and to endure the burdens associated with it.
Most of my smoking life, I smoked
a pack a day. However, when coupled with alcohol, this could easily double or
triple. Booze and cigarettes went well together, like peanut butter and jelly.
TWO: There was nothing anyone was going to tell me
about the dangers of smoking that I didn’t already know.
Over
the years I had taken many smoking cessation classes, both at work and on my
own. I had read about the dangers of smoking over and over again. I read the pamphlets
in doctors’ offices and literature that came with the nicotine patch and gum. I
had seen the horrific pictures of a smoker’s lungs compared to a non-smoker’s,
the black hardened blob, unrecognizable, destroyed by chemicals from
cigarettes. Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) and Lung Cancer were specific,
imminent dangers for me. My dad had both and died at 60 as a result. Yes, I was
acutely aware. I knew it all. I saw all the charts depicting how many years I
was taking off of my life, too.
And I heard the lectures from friends and family members, “You should
quit.” All their preaching did was make me want to push them away – to avoid
being around them. I was simply tired of hearing it. I wasn’t ready.
“Can
you explain why someone with two nodules on his right lung continues to smoke?”
My pulmonologist said, bluntly, staring me in the face during an exam.
“I’m an addict. Addiction defies
rational thought.”
THREE: Quitting was the hardest thing I’ve done.
Some say
cigarettes are harder to quit than heroin. I can’t say for sure as I was
fortunate to never have done heroine (I believe if I had, I’d be dead). I can
say with confidence, however, that quitting cigarettes was hardest thing I’ve
done. It was definitely harder than getting sober.
I tried many times and many
methods to quit, hard core to unconventional. Cold turkey, nicotine gum,
nicotine patch, more nicotine patch, Wellbutrin, and hypnotism (twice), each
worked in its own way for a while. Sometimes I quit for only days, other times
it was longer. The longest was one year. At one point, I was wearing one and a
half of 21mg nicotine patches and smoking at the same time. I could have died!
What I learned over these attempts
was that there was a physical addiction to the nicotine and a psychological
addiction to the idea that smoking cigarettes made me feel better –less stressed
and relaxed. The latter, for me was more difficult. I had to become ready; I
had to want it. And when I decided I wanted it, Chantix helped with both addictions
because it stepped me down from the physical gradually, which allowed time for the
psychological addiction to diminish.
My doctor, knowing my history with
quit attempts, prescribed 40 refills of Chantix, each for a one-week supply. I
took it for five months, which is not typical. But it was before the
controversy surrounding Chantix was public. Because of that controversy, I’ve
been hesitant to recommend it as a solution. Luckily, it worked for me without
any of the adverse effects. I had no bad dreams, no thoughts of suicide, and no
physical issues.
On September 2, 2007, I was leaving
my gram’s house where I had been for dinner. As I got into my truck, I realized
I only had one cigarette left. I thought, what are you going to do, Michael?
You either have to stop smoking or stop Chantix. This can’t continue. What’s it
going to be? Being unable to think long-term, I decided that I would smoke the
last one and not buy any on the way home that night and “see how it goes.” I
can always buy some tomorrow, I thought.
The rest is history.
FOUR: I can NEVER have just one.
Because of Chantix’s step-down
effect, I have not craved a cigarette since that night. Unlike the previous
attempts, where the delicious smell of smoke could lure me back like a moth to
light, this time was different. In fact, cigarette smoke, today, makes me
physically ill. If I’m in an enclosed area such as a bar, I will end up with a sore
throat and sometimes even a headache the next day. I have become an annoying
ex-smoker. Yes, that guy.
Occasionally, however, a fleeting thought may cross my mind and attempt
to glamorize smoking a cigarette. They are not cravings, but just ideas of
what it might be like to smoke one. What would it taste like today? Could I
smoke just one? Surely it’s been long enough. No! I must remind myself that I
can’t have just one and that each time that I quit in the past, I started again
because I thought I that I could. The same principle that applies to staying
sober applies here. I can’t. One is too many and one thousand is never enough.
FIVE: My lung capacity did not come back.
Today my lungs are healthy and there are no signs of cancer, COPD, Asthma,
or chronic Bronchitis. After detecting the nodules on my right lung, my
pulmonologist had me repeat a CT scan every six months for two years to ensure
they didn’t grow or change. They did not. Therefore, he concluded it was scar
tissue, not tumors. That was a huge relief.
Furthermore, many of the issues associated with long-term smoking, such
as wheezing, spitting up brown sputum with black chunks, and morning coughing, subsided
after several months and resolved themselves by year two. Breathing became
easier and I didn’t get as easily winded because of the increased oxygen in my
blood that was now flowing better. And I know that today my risk of getting heart
disease or cancer is greatly reduced.
My lung capacity, although improved, continues to be an issue. I’m not a
doctor or scientist and I agree that lung tissue can heal and rejuvenate the
way much of the literature says. But I also believe for long-term smokers like
me, who smoked for 32 years, my lung capacity will never return to that of a
normal non-smoker.
Since
quitting, I have strived to work out consistently to improve my lung function
and overall physical fitness. But today, when I drop to the floor and give
out at the gym, it’s not my body that gives out, it’s my breath.
Smoking cigarettes among younger
people seems to be “cool” again. I’ve noticed a recent resurgence, especially
with hipsters. I implore anyone who is considering the idea to not start. And
if you do smoke already and you’re like me, I can’t tell you anything. So I won’t.
I’ll only hope you find your way eventually, as I did.
