Third Time's the Charm, Pt. II

Well, I can't blame Blogger this time. The truth is, I've tried twice before to write this post, and both times, I wrote something the length of a meaty novella.

I swear, this time I'll be brief.

I just thought it would be interesting to say how I first heard about Chantix. On Maggie's brilliant blog, we all know that she found it because her friend J mentioned it to her. The rest is -- literally -- history. Maggie trusted her friend, she asked her doctor for Chantix; she didn't have traumatic side effects; and Maggie quit smoking. (She also inspired a slew of Chantix bloggers to keep up the good work, but that's another story for another day!)

So I thought -- do you guys know how I heard about Chantix?

Of course not. You don't dwell inside my head. That's OK; that's why I write.

The truth is, as I have mentioned before, I was just being polite this summer when I said I was gonna quit. I think people are polite that way. We always declare, "I can quit any time," and if we don't mean it, we are being polite and saying what our loved ones want to hear. We say all kinds of things to be polite, from "how do you do" to "that's a lovely scarf!" If you're Southern, you say those things so many times per day, you don't even think of them as polite declarations. They're part of normal conversation.

For smokers, saying, "I'll quit someday," is akin to these daily forms of conversation.

I have tried to quit before. I did not succeed. I tried hypnosis once, cold turkey twice, and the nicotine patch twice. I quit when I had my first child. I quit for almost a month then. Between 1985 and 2007, that month was the most successful quitting period in my life. And that was in 1988. It honestly felt to me as if I could NOT quit smoking.

But I was raised to be mannerly, and that meant that every once in a while, I would have to declare an intention to quit smoking, and then I would have to give it the old college try.

I honestly hated trying to quit smoking. I honestly loved smoking. So I didn't mean it when I said I was going to try to quit again. I was just being polite.

Fortunately, I was really, *really* polite, and I told everyone who would listen that I was going to try to quit smoking again. (I had to warn them in advance of the terrifying mood swings.) (That's just polite, after all.)

My sister Amy had mentioned that *she* was going to try, too, and I really thought -- to be ultra polite -- that I should bolster her attempt by trying to quit, too. Especially since she had never tried to quit before. I didn't want her to feel like she was all alone.

Two of my dearest friends -- both online and off -- are nurses. One lives in Scranton, PA, and the other lives in Tampa, FL. They both rock. I see them every other year when I meet my girlfriends in Disney World for a romp around the Food & Wine Festival. Anyway, entirely separately of each other, and without any prompting whatsoever, both Linda (PA) and Diana (FL) wrote enthusiastically and said, "If you're going to quit smoking, are you going to try Chantix? Lots of people are having great success with it!"

I had never heard of the drug. There weren't commercials on the TV for it. I didn't read about it in a magazine. I -- and I consider myself fairly well-informed, if only because I read everything that passes in front of my eyes -- had no idea what Linda and Diana were talking about.

So I looked it up. And I called up a doctor, and I made myself an appointment. Iiiii ... needed to make that appointment. I am not a spring chicken any more, and my skinny-chick metabolism threw in the towel three and a half years ago. I've done nothing but gain weight since then. When I met with the doctor, I told her, "I need to quit smoking, and I need to lose weight." She prescribed Chantix and handed me a photocopied diet sheet that was so impossible, I tossed it after three days. I didn't even *try* to diet. I figured, "Quit smoking first, and then address the weight thing."

71 days later, I think I'm getting the hang of this quitting smoking thang.

Now, I do wonder how this will all end. My brilliant and strong sister quit smoking using just the nicotine patch. She's not even wearing nicotine patches any more, and she isn't smoking. I, on the other hand, am not smoking, but I've set perpetual alarms on my cell phone to remind me to take my Chantix because I still sometimes feel quite fragile and as if I might buy a pack of cigarettes. I don't *want* to smoke. But -- sometimes -- I'm afraid I *might*.

But Chantix is making it possible for me to *forget* the habits of smoking. I mean -- when you've smoked for more than 20 years, it really does feel automatic. You get a cup of coffee, you light a cigarette. You finish a meal, you light a cigarette. You take a break, you light a cigarette. You drive 4 hours west, you light MANY cigarettes to pass the time.

I'm .... losing that natural reach-for-the-cigarettes feeling. It is gradual. It really is the hardest part of quitting smoking, in my honest opinion. It's like... losing a tooth. For weeks after, your tongue seeks out that hole in your mouth. Where is the tooth? It's gone. Why? Just because. OK. Where's the next tooth going to come in? Right there, be patient. OK. Where is the new tooth?

Only -- it's not a baby tooth I lost. It's a 22-year habit. I was a serious smoker. And to go for an hour without smoking is an accomplishment. I eat breakfast without a cigarette. I drink coffee without it. I record podcasts without it. I ... *live* ... without lighting a cigarette.

I'm so glad I wasn't one of those unfortunate people who reacted badly to Chantix. I do have the vivid dreams. (Not scary vivid -- just very colorful, very realistic *fun* dreams.) I did go sleepwalking just a few nights ago. (My kids tell me I picked up a striped towel and said, "Sleep sleepy sleepy sleep sleepy." Not bad for somnambulism!) I do have the nausea, and I have to be *very* careful to eat a serious meal before I take a pill, not just a couple of soda crackers. But I can take the Chantix without turning suicidal.

And I'm so glad, because the cigarettes were already killing me. I didn't need the extra push.