I Am Still A Non-Smoker

This Memorial Day weekend marked my one year anniversary as a non-smoker.

One year!! Wow.

I don't think about having a cigarette every second of every moment like I did in the first few days but the psychological part of the habit is remarkably resilient. I still get the urge to light up several times a week. Sometimes, I even dream and it is so bloody real that I can feel the smoke going down my throat. I know that sounds gross but for me, it is rapture. I liked smoking but hated being a smoker. I often wake up and smell my fingers slightly panicked that somehow, I fell off the wagon in the middle of the night.

But I haven't, of course.

And I won't because there are so many positives to being free of the habit. I love the way my that my hair smells now. I love that my teeth have whitened and that they aren't nearly as sensitive as they used to be. I love that I don't sound like a gruff linebacker named Gus first thing in the morning. I love that I can travel without the anxiety of playing "hide the lighter" from the security people. I can't begin to describe how great it is to get into my car and have it smell like filthy carpool kids instead of stale smoke. And then, there is the whole self respect thing.

For years, I was a closet smoker. During the week, I would race home at lunch, strip off my work clothes and cover my hair with a plastic shower cap. Then, I'd go out onto the back porch and smoke one cigarette after another.

And I'd guzzle a diet Coke. And belch like a sailor.

Oh yes, I was the picture of health. I sometimes imagined that the heart disease fairy was on her way to sprinkle me with her cardiac pixie dust but I was more concerned about CANCER because chemotherapy meant hair loss and THAT was unacceptable. It never occurred to me that I would DIE as a result of my habit. Then, three things happened.

Late 2005, my cousin was diagnosed with lymphoma. She was 36 years old. I remember hearing the news from my mum and immediately, I was terrified of losing her. She may be my cousin by birth but in my heart, she is my sister and chasing the fear was a seething, overwhelming anger at God or the universe or whatever. Cindi was one of those people who didn't "deserve" cancer. Now I understood on a cerebral level that nobody merits a lymphoma diagnosis like a punishment but I felt that there were those of us (smokers, Enron executives, pedophiles) who sort of have it coming. I mean, who falls over in surprise when a lifelong smoker gets lung cancer? Not a big shock, right?

But when a woman, who was so health conscious and who made all of the correct life choices (never smoked, regular exercise, lots of green veg, lean meat, no refined crap) gets cancer, it feels wrong. And I had a really hard time getting my head around her illness. It frightened me. And I felt deep, deep shame because I had lived my life up to that point with very little attention to my health. I had taken it for granted. During one telephone conversation, Cindi said to me, "Eat what you want, drink yourself into a coma and smoke like a fucking chimney because obviously, it doesn't matter." She said this tongue in cheek and I could certainly understand her exasperation but instead of agreeing with her, Cindi's diagnosis was an epiphany for me. I came to believe that being disease free was a gift and to knowingly squander it, one cigarette at a time, was stupid and weak. Every time I lit up over the next eighteen months, I couldn't help but think about my cousin hunched over an airplane toilet deathly ill from her last chemo treatment. It was a sobering picture.

Then just over a year ago, Olivia was playing dress up. She had on a tutu, a pair of my heels and a cape borrowed from her brother. She had decided to use a crayon as a prop.

"Look Mama," she said, "I look like you". And with that, she stuck the crayon in her mouth and pretended to smoke.

I had always gone outside and never subjected either of my children to my habit but clearly, they were aware. I had read that kids of smokers were a bazillion times more likely to smoke themselves and when I saw my five year old puffing on a crayon, it felt like there was an anvil on my chest. This was the shining example that I had set for my children? Monkey see. Monkey do. Lovely.

The countdown to my non smoking life began in earnest at this point. I made the appointment with the doctor and filled my Chantix prescription. It sat in my cupboard for two months. I'd take the bottle out, shake it and put it back. I'd look at the calendar and try to commit to a day when I'd throw away the cigs forever. I wasn't completely there.

Then, I made the decision to try dating again. I composed a list of all of the attributes that my ideal man would have. The top three were as follows:

#1. Emotionally healthy
#2. Funny
#3. Non-smoker

Yeah, I know it seems strange but even when I was a smoker, I knew that if there was any chance for me to quit and stay off the cigarettes, I had to share my life with someone who didn't smoke. When I investigated online dating, smoking ranked right up there with "religion" and "want children" in the deal breaker categories.

The truth is, I ran out of excuses as to why I still smoked. It was hindering my ability to live the kind of life that I wanted and I just got to the point where I could no longer respect myself as a smoker.

So on May 16th, I took my first of fourteen Chantix pills.

On May 23rd at 9:50pm, I lit up my last Marlboro Light. I savoured every drag and I smoked it right down to the filter. Then, I went to bed.

On May 24th, 2007 I woke up a non smoker.