Okay. So I smoke. I've been smoking a really long time, over 20 years. I've tried, half heartedly, to quit off an on, and have never been particularly successful.
I also have been lying to my mother, off and on, half heartedly about the fact that I smoke, or the success of my attempts to quit. Also, not particularly successful. Or, you know, adult. First one to point out to me that I'm over 40? Gets a black eye. I KNOW.
So I don't write about it here, because my mother occasionally reads here, although I'm not really sure that she does, truth be told. But, whatever.
Recently she let me know that every time I cough she knows I still smoke, in case I think I'm tricking anyone. I changed the subject.
But, anyway. A couple of weeks ago I went to the doctor for a referral to a headache specialist, because my migraines have been coming fast and furious lately, and, ever the hypochondriac, I'm all worried about having a stroke.
So I met with this little sarcastic baby doctor, who said, "yeah. Well, if you're worried about stroke, I'm sure you know smoking is a higher risk factor than migraines." And then before I left, he said, "So I guess there's nothing I can really do to help you quit smoking. It looks like you've made several attempts. And I'm sure you know the risks."
And that was that. Absolutely nothing for me to rebel against or dismiss him for. No lecturing. No talking down to me. Just sort of, okay, well, you seem intelligent lady. Figure it out for yourself.
And that stuck with me more than anything any health care professional had ever said to me on the subject. Just leaving it in my lap like that.
So, a couple of days ago, Sunday, I just grabbed Scott and said "You know, if you ran to the drug store and got me some nicotine patches, I would use them. But I will probably change my mind in the next 15 minutes." And he was gone. Like one of those little cartoon things that takes off and all they leave is a trail of air.
So. Anyway. I've been using them since Monday. I have continued to smoke, which I know you aren't supposed to do. But the first day I smoked 10 cigarettes, instead of my usual pack and a half. And I've been dropping one a day, since tuesday. And at the end of the day, when I am done and feel like smoking, I say to Scott "MAN, I really want to smoke right now." And he says, "This is the most romantic thing you've ever done for me." And then I kick him in the shins.
Yesterday, I realized that I wasn't really feeling like smoking, that I was just thinking of lighting up because I was doing something that I associate with smoking. And I thought, you know, you don't HAVE to smoke, just because you're doing this. And that sounds small, but it was huge.
So, we'll see how it goes, and I'll keep talking about it here, because I'm thinking about it a lot. I mean A LOT.
But the really really cool thing, and the inspiration for the title above is this. Those nicotine patches give you some really vivid and funny dreams. This morning I was dreaming, and sort of between being awake and being asleep, aware I was dreaming because the window was open and rain was splashing in on my head. And I had this dream about a cigar box. In the cigar box were a whole bunch of those container tubes that cigars come in. And they were all labelled and in alphabetical order. And each one was the name of one of my dreams, like names of movies. I wish I could remember them all because they were making me laugh in my sleep at myself. And just as I woke up, I looked at the last one, and forced myself to remember it as I woke. It was called "Bobby's Peanut." Which, unfortunately, I am afraid is not as funny as the names of the ones that were cracking me up.
I'll keep you posted.
