The Time Has Come

Well, shit... I’ve decided that today is the day to stop smoking.

The patch is on my arm, I have one pack left (yes, I’ve already had... uh... four?), and I’m fighting the urge to light up another.

What, you say?  The most devout of smokers is quitting?  What in the hell is the world coming to?

It comes down to one word:  MONEY.

Do I really want to quit?  Sorta.  Would I continue smoking if cartons weren’t $85?  Most likely.  The sad and simple truth is that I can no longer afford to chuck roughly $500 out the window every month.

But, you say, you’re NOT supposed to smoke with a patch on your arm.  You’ll get nicotine poisoning.  You have to fight harder.  Do you want to wind up in the hospital because your body can’t handle all the extra nicotine from smoking real ciggies with the strongest patch on?

To all that, I say a loud and resounding BULLSHIT.

This is the woman who, during one of her hospital stays, was wheeled to the elevator by her pulmonologist to go sit outside, in the pouring rain, to have a smoke.  Not only was it raining, and I was sitting there with a blanket draped over my head, I had two smokes - while wearing two patches. I seem to have survived quite nicely.

But I’ve also noticed that I’ve begun to cough - just a little - which, after 39 years of smoking two packs a day, isn’t bad.  Add to that the fact that my SO is an ex-smoker.  He doesn’t care if I smoke, but I’d rather spend the time with him than keep running outside to have a cancer stick.  I’d also rather not eat breath mints like Cheetos to try and mask the stench of tobacco.

I have no illusions of my lungs “getting better”.  The damage has already been done.  I’ve seen X-rays of them and, for smoking as much and as long as I have, they look remarkably good.  I just love smoking.  I love the rituals, the taste, the relaxation - they even help with pain by constricting blood vessels - and I’ll miss it.

Had I been smart, I would have not picked up smoking again after my four-month hospital stint.  But nobody has ever accused me of being such a thing.  I mean, I lasted a week after coming home with several packs sitting there on top of the chest next to my bed.  “I’ll just have one”, thought I.  The really stupid thing about it was that I began to cough violently after a few puffs and wound up only taking those few.  I taught myself to smoke again.  What a dipshit.

Thank god for Valium...