Day 21: How to Help a Quitter

I think, if you have never been addicted to something, then you can't really know what its like to give up smoking.



If you were addicted to crack or smack or meth, then you win, because I have no idea what its like to be stoopid.

When you're quitting smoking, people like to tell you their stories of quitting stuff. Lots of people claim they smoked and "quit after college," but after a few minutes of conversation you find out that this person was never A Smoker. This person was a Social Smoker -- better known to pack-a-day Smokers (like yours truly) as Wasted-Guy-Who-Bums-Off-You or Friend-Who-Thinks-Not-Buying-A-Pack-But-Smoking-Half-of-Yours-Still-Means-He's-A-NonSmoker. These people like to claim they were smokers in college, because in college smoking was cool. Now, smokers are sort of like the scourge of society -- banished to sidewalks in sub-zero weather and further condemned for their inclination to litter when an ashtray is unavailable.

So when Social Smokers try to claim they can relate to what I'm going through, I smile and nod, but on the inside I'm thinking: Your "empathy" is actually a little insulting.

Because, bitch, I smoked for 15 years. Yeah. You smoked for FOUR.

I win.

(Okay, that's laughable. What do I win? Emphysema? Heart disease? Yellow teeth? Wrinkles? An Iron Lung?)



But it got me thinking: People don't know what to say to someone who recently quit smoking. And that's okay. It just means I need to write a guide for folks who want to support a Quitter.



There are a number of guides on this topic just a quick Google search away, but most of them offer vague advice like "Be positive!" or advice for spouses like "Pack snacks in the Quitter's lunch with positive messages hidden inside!"





Let's be more pragmatic, shall we?



1. Realize that the Quitter has just totally overhauled her lifestyle.


This means: everything is different. For fifteen years I smoked when I: drank coffee, finished a task, got frustrated, was bored, accomplished something big, was sad, talked on the phone, began my evening, took the dog outside to pee, hung out with girlfriends, drove around running errands, finished a meal, left my parents' place, had a bad day at work....



Now I don't have anything to do when I do those things. Its uncomfortable. It makes me feel... not me. And it makes it hard for me to do the things I used to to.



Be patient. I will get back to myself. I just need to figure out what non-smoker me looks like.




2. Do not talk about the health benefits of quitting.


First of all, I already know smoking is bad for me and quitting is good for me. I passed high school health class too.



Second, I know there is some damage I have done to my body that cannot be undone. When you talk about how my health will improve, I think about the things that won't go back to before. That stresses me out. Know what I used to do when I was stressed? I smoked. Don't stress a smoker out. Ever.


3. Listen to me.


There are a few people in my life who are very close to me who will not let me talk about quitting. Its okay. I still love you. They think talking about it will make me think about smoking and therefore make me want a cigarette.


It doesn't work like that.


First, the things that make me want a cigarette are listed above. If we are not engaged in one of those activities, we're probably good.


Second, Quitter is ALREADY thinking about smoking all the time. So talking about it is actually a release, not a stressor.


4. Do not ask me to come out and keep you company while you have a smoke, or ask if its okay if you have a smoke around me, or apologize for smoking around me.


Its my choice to not smoke and I won't impose it on you. But here's where my head is at: I can't smoke. It sucks. You can. I am jealous. I will get over it.



I'm just gonna hang here inside where I can get over it without being grumpy.


5. Be my cheerleader.

I love a high-five. I love it when you order me a ginger ale on the rocks and toast my success. I love it when you say "I am so proud of you." I love it when you give me a hug and tell me I'm going to make it. I love it when you post on my blog telling me you believe in me, or text me that you're thinking of me, or email me to say you understand.


This is the hardest thing I have ever done. I need lots of cheerleaders.


And I need them well past the first few days. When Quitter first announces that she has quit, everyone is so excited! There are seemingly endless rounds of Good-for-You's and You-Can-Do-It's!


Then they end. Quitter seems okay. You kind of forget about it. Life just moves on.



Totally understandable. But here's something you may not know: Quitting gives Quitter a high at first. Quitter is enthusiastic! Quitter is on board! Quitter is ready for the challenge!


Then, life moves on. Real life happens. Stress happens and laundry and to do lists and jobs and the high wears off and then Quitter is just slogging through life -- without smokes.


Quitter needs you most around weeks 2 and 3, when the excitement has worn off and then its just a life without something Quitter liked.



6. Tell me I'm pretty.

Because I feel like a jiggly sack of lard. Holy fried food, batman, can I just tell you what I ate yesterday?



I ate a Starbucks egg sandwich, two cookies that were lying around unattended in the teacher's lounge, a baked potato the size of my forearm with butter, cheese, sour cream, and BACON; half a serving platter of chicken Parmesan and a cheesecake.



The day before I ate a Dunkin Donuts egg sandwich, three chocolate donut holes, at least a dozen potato chips with onion dip, a chicken sandwich from Starbucks, two slices of pizza, two double-chocolate-chunk cookies and a mini-Hershey's bar leftover from my Christmas stocking.


I do not feel pretty. I feel like I am willing to eat anything not nailed down to a solid surface.



This is not entirely an oral fixation thing. Its just that without beer and cigarettes, I'm running out of things to look forward to and indulge in and food has become something fun to do in place of my vices.



So I feel fat. And taking on dieting right now is just not an option. I'm running. That's enough.



But it helps when someone says I look nice, or healthy or that I'm glowing (someone at work told me that last week, and I'm still riding that high). Compliments reduce my stress and boost my confidence, and those are things I can really use right now.

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I hope this was helpful. Or entertaining. Or both.

Thanks to everyone reading and cheering me on. You are definitely helping this Quitter.

Day 6: Flashback Friday!

So this blog will have a **NEW FEATURE** called "Flashback Friday" in which I reminisce about something incredibly stoopid I did when I was smoking and drinking like a world champion. Ideally, I will recall said stupidity, feel something akin to disgust over my ridiculousness, and feel renewed in my commitment to quit smokes and drinks.

Right before the weekend when all I want to do is chain smoke while sucking down beers.

This week's memory takes us back to a time and a land far, far away -- back when I lived in Cambridge, MA and drove 35 minutes each way to Salem, NH to teach. (If you can believe this: That commute was actually better than the 50 minutes each way I drove when I lived in Dover, NH and commuted to Salem. This is why New England is weird. All those little states...)

Okay, so every morning I would wake up every morning at 5:15 am, make myself a pot of coffee, get dressed and watch the news, and drive to work while listening to NPR.

**** If you are my mother, you can stop there. That is all I did. There is no more to this post.****

The above is horseshit, but significantly less embarrassing than the truth:

Every morning, I would wake up late as shit -- thereby eliminating time to make coffee -- wear whatever was not on my floor, throw my wet hair in a pony tail while trying to remember where-in- the-name-of-all-that-is-holy I parked my car last night, haul-ass to the Dunkin Donuts drive through, get a coffee, and smoke three cigarettes on my way to work.

"Dunkin Donuts!" you cry! "Not Starbucks?!? You are a Starbucks loyalist!"

Um, only because the Dunkin Donuts ice coffee down here is inexplicably horrible. In New England it is made of Unicorn Milk and the Dust of Sacred Fairy Burial Grounds.

Anyway, on the way home, I would repeat the morning procedure -- except by then my hair would be dry.

Let's examine what I've just told you for a moment, shall we? I just said I purchased not one, but two Dunkin Donuts Medium Iced coffees with cream and sugar every day for 180 days (give or take the occasional sick/snow/fiercely-hungover-and-dry-heaving day) and smoked SIX cigarettes in the car alone.

I then got home, got on the phone and smoked another half a pack.

But let's just run the numbers on the commute alone: That's six cigarettes x 180 days = 1080 cigarettes. That's 54 packs of cigarettes at about $4.00 a pack.

PLUS the two iced coffees at approximately $2.50 apiece.

$900 on coffee. Nine. Hundred. Dollars.

Oh, and $216 on smokes. Just on the commute.

Allow me to serve these numbers up with a side of perspective: That total was about 10% of my bi-weekly take home.

Appalling.

But that's not even the story, folks! This is:

One morning I am running Especially Late. "Especially Late" means I will arrive to school and school will have started without me. "Especially Late" means I am drying my hair by smoking an extra cigarette and rolling down the windows more than usual.

"Especially Late" does NOT, however, mean skip the iced-coffee. Ooooh nooo. I got my iced-coffee.

Then I got on the highway.

Then I realized I was out of smokes.

Panic. Panicpanicpanicpanic. What to do? What to do...

You, sensible person, are wondering what the panic is all about. Legitimate pondering. You, sensible person, are clearly not addicted to cigarettes. You, also, would never do what I did:

I got off the highway and got the smokes. Yes, even though it would make me an additional 15 minutes late -- I thought it was worth it.

But how to explain the lateness? One cannot stroll into work a full 30 minutes late without some kind of excuse.

And I hear "I ran out of smokes" does not exactly suggest professionalism.

So I called school and told them I got pulled over.

Yeah! Because that's better.

W.T.F. ??

Yes, I said I got pulled over for speeding and that it made me late, and the receptionist chuckled and said she'd find coverage for my class and I took a giant sigh of relief full of nicotine and smoke and felt much, much better.

Until I actually got pulled over.

Karma is real, bitches. Real.

But wait. It gets better:

I got pulled over in front of the school.

Oh yes I did, and you know who saw it all go down?

Oh, right, um, everyone.

Cover: Blown. Self: Humbled. Employment Status: Surprisingly, still solid.

I owned up to what happened, and everyone thought it was pretty funny, and felt my real speeding ticket was sufficient punishment for conjuring up an imaginary one.

That pack of smokes cost me $78.50 (plus the increase in my insurance premium, as I assure you, that was not my first dance with the po-po -- click here for details) but I learned a valuable lesson that day:

Telling the truth is infinitely cheeper than lying.