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 8: I Am Not Pregnant.

Apparently, if you're 30 and quit drinking and smoking, people think you're pregnant.

And they ask you about it. 

If I were pregnant, and ready to tell people I was pregnant, I would just tell you I'm pregnant. 

If I were pregnant, and not ready to tell people I was pregnant, I would tell you to take your tactless questions and place them delicately where the sun don't shine.

I'm I right here?  I'm not pregnant, so I don't want to speak for the pregnant lady population, but I think people are overestimating my interest in creating complicated-pregnancy-diversions.  I wouldn't go around writing blogs about quitting smoking and alcohol and posting the links to my facebook account where my entire network of family, friends and co-workers can read about it -- all as a cover for my pregnancy.  That sort of behavior gets you the That-Bitch-Be-Crazy label and if you read yesterday's post, you would see I am shooting for moderate levels of sanity in 2011.

However, I realize I am raising some eyebrows. This became abundantly apparent yesterday when I told my mom about my Thirty Day Trial.

Me: "So I quit smoking."

Mom:  "Really?  That's great, honey."

Me: "Yep.  Been about a week now.  I also quit drinking."

Mom: [Silence]

Me: "You there, Mom?"

Mom: [Silence]

Pause.  It is at this moment that the origins of the phrase "pregnant pause" become clear to me.

Me: "Mom??"

Mom: "Are you trying to tell me something, dear?"

When your mother assumes you are choosing a complicated pregnancy ruse over telling her the news she has been waiting to hear for long enough that she just went ahead and adopted the neighbors' kids as grandchildren -- that's when you know you have some things to clear up.

No problem:  I am not knocked up.

These questions are infinitely better than being asked if you are pregnant when you are doing nothing to warrant suspicion. 

This happened to me:

The week before teachers begin educating the youth of America for yet another academic year, we all come back to school a week early and set up our classrooms, plan lessons, and sit through interminable and brain-cell- deteriorating professional-development meetings.

One day, I walked into one of said meetings, and a colleague stopped me as I was walking to my seat.

Tactless Colleague:  "Congratulations!"

Me: [Confused.]  "On what? No longer having to advise the yearbook?"

Tactless Colleague: "No, silly!  On your big news!"

Me: [Still confused.  Cannot remember good news.  Its been a boring month.] "Um, I, um..."

Pause. Why in the name of all that is holy did this woman not just stop right here?  Why?  Wouldn't you?  Clearly she and I are not on the same page.  Quit while you're ahead, dumbass!

Tactless Colleague: "You're pregnant!"

You don't say?  Well I'll be damned...

Yep, you're right, Tactless Colleague, I am silly.  I didn't even know I was pregnant!

I soooo wish I could tell you I had some really witty rebuttal to her stoopidity, but I was so shocked, I just said:

"Um, nope.  Not pregnant."

However, she was not to be proven wrong. Ooooh no. 

In most cases I applaud this kind of commitment to your stance, but in this case, I feel it could be construed as a tad bit foolhardy, no?

Tactless Colleague:  "Well, I heard it from a few people..."

Me: "I would check your sources."

Do you see what happened there?  Tactless Colleague believes Someone Else was a more credible authority on my uterus than me.  Me.  Owner of said uterus and arbiter of all things entering and exiting therein.

Un-effing-believable.

But would you believe that was the first time someone told me I was pregnant that week?  Yeah.  When I say "first time" I mean: There was also a second time.

And here's what I have decided:  If ONE person congratulates you on your non-existent pregnancy, shame on them.

If TWO people congratulate you on your non-existent pregnancy, you need to lose weight.

When the second person congratulated me on the imaginary fetus, I had no comeback whatsoever.  I stammered.  I flubbed.  I ran to the bathroom and cried about being fat like a teenage girl (in a high school, no less.  What a regression...).

And obviously I thought of the perfect response well after the moment had passed.  Duh.

However, a friend of mine did get to use it.

Friend's Tactless Colleague:  "Congratulations!"

Friend: "On what?"

F.T.C: "On your pregnancy!"

Friend: "Oh, no I'm just fat."

Bahzingah!  We have a winner!