Five Smoke-Free Years

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Nearly 3½ years ago, the Montgomery County, Maryland, government officials observed the fifth anniversary of a policy banning smoking in the county's restaurants and bars.

It's been a long time since I was in Maryland, but I'd like to have that banner today. I'd hang it from my balcony, where it would be clearly visible to the cars that pass by.

You see, I smoked my last cigarette five years ago today.

I must say that I am proud of that achievement — I'm almost as proud of it as I am shocked by it. I honestly thought I was a lifer — however long my smoking addiction would permit me to live. I never expected to give it up, not for five hours, much less five years. That is a milestone that I never thought I'd reach.

Nevertheless, here I am, five years later, still smoke free.

It hasn't been easy, and I sincerely sympathize with anyone who may be taking his/her first steps down that long, often dark road today. There are still times when I miss it, when I crave it — there have even been a couple of times when I damn near pulled in to a convenience store parking lot, planning to buy a pack, and I had to talk myself out of it — but those times aren't as frequent or intense as they were and they don't last nearly as long as they did.

A friend of mine told me long ago that those cravings would become less intense as the nicotine left my system. I had my doubts at the time, but it really is true. They haven't gone away — I'm told they never really will — but they are easier to ignore.

If I could, I would tell this to someone who is attempting to quit smoking — If you stick with it, it will be worth it.

It will be worth it in many ways, some you probably can't even imagine today — and there may be benefits to come of which I still am not aware. But, after five years, I can tell you this:

• Not having to pay for cigarettes put a dent in my monthly expenses in these last five years — and that has meant a lot in this economy.
  
  I mean, by itself, my cigarette purchases probably didn't amount to a massive chunk of my monthly budget (although I noticed recently how much cigarette prices have risen since the last time I bought a pack), but when you multiply the savings over five years, well, it has become a tidy sum.


• I don't cough when I get up in the morning, anymore — unless I am congested from a cold. I've discovered that I really like breathing — and I want to keep doing it.


• My home, my clothes and my vehicle don't reek of smoke anymore.


• Food tastes better. In fact, I find myself discovering all sorts of flavors now. Where has this been all my life? I often ask myself. The answer is quite simple. It's been there all along. It just couldn't get through the smoke to my taste buds.

And here is one for parents.

I don't happen to be a parent so this has not been a benefit for me. But if you are a parent, this is one that you cannot ignore.

You will no longer expose your child(ren) to second–hand smoke.

Actually, come to think of it, I was a parent (in a way) when I was smoking. I owned a very lively dog for about 5½ years, and we were a family, the two of us, until he got loose from me one night, ran into the street and was hit by an oncoming vehicle.

After he was killed, I thought, from time to time, of the occasions when I had seen him cough, and I did wonder if he was affected by second–hand smoke. If he was, I deeply regret reducing the quality of his life. (For all I know, if he hadn't been hit by that car, he might have died prematurely from some smoke–related illness.)

Of course, there are other, more cosmetic benefits. One such benefit is that my fingers were stained yellow from all the nicotine but no more. That stain has disappeared.

Little by little, my body seems to be reclaiming what it lost to my years of smoking — and I sincerely wish I had given it up earlier. I did try, from time to time, but, while the spirit was willing, the flesh was always weak.

The time was right five years ago, I guess, and I am proud to be able to say today that I am still smoke free. It hasn't been easy. It still isn't easy.

But it's been worth it.

And I urge every smoker reading this to make the attempt.

Even if you fail.

Keep trying.

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Worth a Thousand Words

Yesterday, the Food and Drug Administration unveiled the warning labels that will now adorn cigarette packages.

Well, they're supposed to be in place by September of next year so they won't start showing up at your neighborhood convenience store for awhile.

But, when they do, the difference will be — as the commissioner of food and drugs for the FDA said — "dramatic."

The overall appearances of cigarette packages will be changed. Warning labels have been printed innocuously on one side of cigarette packages (where they were easy for smokers to ignore) for years, and the language was ambiguous.

But the FDA's new labels will wrap around packages, sharing the space that presently belongs only to the brand name. They will be impossible for smokers to ignore — in no small part because the new generation of labels will carry graphic illustrations of the damage that smoking can do to people.

Now, I have always heard that a picture is worth a thousand words. I guess I have been reluctant to accept that because I am a writer. The idea of images having more influence than words contradicts my lifelong belief in the power of the pen.

But I have seen enough to know that, for the majority of people, a picture really is worth a thousand words.

It's really hard to forget a strong visual image. It's a lot easier to forget words, even words of wisdom.

Words of wisdom are often overlooked. But the words of wisdom on these new labels won't be open to interpretation.

For most of my adult life, I was a smoker. When I think back on that period in my life, I guess I actually read those labels a handful of times — enough to know what they said — but the information never really sank in. Most of the time, I was aware the labels were there, but I always managed to keep them from my sight. I would place a package with the label facing away from me or with the label blocked by something.

Would I have become addicted to smoking if I had been confronted with big labels every time I lit up? Probably not. (If you are a pack–a–day smoker, you will have to look at those labels about 7,300 times per year.)

And I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been drawn to smoking if I had seen full–color pictures of diseased lungs or hearts.

I hear that's part of the strategy. The images that were selected for the labels were chosen after focus groups indicated to the FDA that they were the most effective at repulsing specific groups, such as teenagers and pregnant women.

The new labels are designed to convey the image that smoking is not cool, which is good — to a point.

Nicotine is a crafty foe, as I have said before. It starts as a habit, but it quietly seizes control. As a long–term strategy, it is wise to discourage smoking at all. It's better than having to deal with that addiction phase.

(Someday, I'd like to see the FDA mandate labels that say something like "TOBACCO COMPANIES HAVE MANIPULATED THE NICOTINE CONTENT IN THEIR PRODUCTS TO MAKE THEM MORE ADDICTIVE." Talk about honesty in advertising.)

It is important, as I have written here before, for people to stop treating smoking like a "habit" that one can control — and start treating it like an addiction, which people cannot control. Perhaps, one day, we truly will.

But, in the meantime, I think the new labels are a step in the right direction.

The new labels are an honest and unflinching look at something that has been glamorized far too long — and, as a result, far too many people have become sick and died.

Ordinarily, I'm not in favor of government interference in personal decisions.

By my own choice, I haven't had a cigarette in more than four years. But that is the point. It was my choice.

I have told my friends who still smoke that I will never tell them what they should or should not do. Cigarette smoking is a legal activity for adults (typically, 18 or older), and I will not tell anyone not to do something that I did for many years.

I will give them my opinion — but only if they ask for it — and I definitely do have an opinion about smoking. Few of my smoking friends have asked me for my opinion, though, so I'm glad that the FDA will be requiring these labels.

They'll get my point across for me — and I won't have to say a word — much less a thousand of 'em.

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My Anniversary

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It was four years ago today that I smoked what is — so far, at least — my last cigarette.

As the anniversaries — and semi–anniversaries — have rolled around, I have written about smoking and giving it up. I have refused — and I still refuse — to call myself an "ex"–smoker. I prefer to call myself a "recovering" smoker — even today.

I know some people who used to smoke but don't anymore — and most of them tend to look down on smokers. I don't know why. Of all people, former smokers should know how hard it is to give up smoking. It is not a character defect or a lack of will power that keeps many from succeeding yet many former smokers act as if it is.

Many former smokers pass judgment on current smokers. I do not.

Granted, the smell of tobacco smoke is irritating for someone who has given it up. I don't really know why that is. Perhaps it is because the enhanced nicotine in today's cigarettes appeals to us in subliminal ways, trying to sneak in under our personal radars and seduce us.

I believe a former smoker must be ever vigilant to remain one, but I have assured my friends who still smoke that I will never tell them what I think they should do — unless they ask for my opinion.

If you want to read what I have written about smoking in the past, you can find the posts on this blog without too much difficulty.

I still believe that it is good that I am what I call a "recovering smoker" — and not an active smoker. I respect tobacco and nicotine and the power they wield.

I am glad I do not hand over my money to the cigarette companies anymore. I don't cough first thing in the morning anymore. My hair, my clothes, my home and my vehicle don't reek of tobacco smoke anymore. I'm not constantly emptying ash trays or wondering when I will need to replenish my cigarette supply.

I remember, when I first saw "Cast Away" and marveled, like everyone else, at his survival skills, my very first thought was a sense of panic at the thought of being deprived of cigarettes indefinitely, perhaps forever.

Because I knew that, once I was plunged into the water, any cigarettes I had on me would be useless — and a smokeless existence would be imposed on me immediately. How would I cope? How would I be able to do it?

It's been awhile since I've seen that movie, but it seems to me that Tom Hanks' character survived for four years on that deserted island before he was rescued. I don't think his character was a smoker before being stranded, but he had many obstacles to overcome.

Well, now, I have survived for four years since my last puff. I haven't had to do it in such a primitive setting, but it's been a long, hard and lonely battle. There have been many obstacles that I have had to overcome, too.

Nevertheless, I suppose I'm free. Free at last, free at last ...

Well ...

I've spent about two–thirds of the last four years looking for full–time work.

That fact alone ought to be worth something. I mean, when I worked for newspapers, it was considered a plus to be dedicated and patient because a complete story rarely, if ever, fell into your lap — and, if it did, it seldom made deadline.

You had to be committed to the long haul.

I've endured the stress without turning to tobacco for the soothing calm it always provided. It hasn't been easy. In fact, it's been damn hard. But I've done it.

Aren't those qualities that an employer should want in an employee?

I can learn to do the things I do not know how to do if someone will show me.

But it won't mean much if I do not have a long–term commitment.

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Three Years and Counting

Three years ago today, I smoked my last cigarette.

I don't know how old I was when I smoked a cigarette for the first time. I have a vague memory of being with a bunch of my buddies in an empty lot on a warm afternoon. Someone had a pack of cigarettes — Marlboros, I think — which was passed around for everyone to take one. Then a book of matches was passed around and everyone lit his cigarette.

To borrow an infamous phrase from Bill Clinton, I don't think I inhaled on that occasion. That was a talent I learned at another time. That day, I merely sucked the smoke into my mouth, then let it escape without drawing it into my lungs.

I started smoking (and inhaling) on a regular basis when I was a teenager, which, as I have come to realize, is not uncommon. Anyway, I continued smoking — and the volume of my consumption increased — for years until, for reasons I would rather not discuss here, I gave up cigarettes on this day in 2007.

It was unfortunate, to say the least, that I found myself out of a job 1½ years later. I am still unemployed so half the time that I have been smoke–free has also been the most challenging and most difficult time of my life.

To misquote a line from "Airplane!" I picked the wrong year to give up smoking.

In many ways, I guess, it has been good that I have not been smoking. When I started smoking, a pack of cigarettes cost about 50 cents. According to signs I have seen recently at convenience stores, a pack of cigarettes easily costs 10 times that today — so, clearly, it's been to my benefit economically not to smoke.

People also tell me it has been beneficial to my health, and I guess it has. My physical health, anyway. I must admit that there are times when I haven't been as sure about my psychological health. I often miss the calming influence that smoking had on me, but I remind myself that that was the nicotine — and tobacco companies manipulated the nicotine over the years to make sure people like me got hooked and stayed hooked.

There are definitely times, though, when I wonder if giving it up was worth it.

Anyway, if you're a smoker who's been trying to give it up and you're reading this, let me assure you that I know what you're up against. I've written a lot about it.

And the best thing I can do — besides wish you success — is tell you to hang in there. You may feel like you're hanging by your fingernails from the edge of a long, steep cliff. And you may not feel like you can hang in there much longer. But remind yourself of the money you're saving. And congratulate yourself for not putting your money in the pockets of the tobacco companies. They've already made their fortunes on the lives of hundreds of thousands of others.

Then, if you're married, think about the gift of cleaner air that you're giving your spouse. If you have children, think about the gift of cleaner air that you're giving them.

Think about anything that motivates you. Use little tricks to help you stay on course. You can find lots of tips on smoking cessation at all sorts of web sites. Find a good support group.

Be prepared for anything. Most people who try to give up smoking aren't successful the first time. Some have to make several attempts before they finally make it. And nicotine, I learned, is crafty. It finds out how you're vulnerable and it attacks that weak point.

In my case, it was when I went to sleep at night. It invaded my dreams to the extent that I would wake up convinced that my smokeless streak had been broken. Then I would waste a lot of time searching my apartment for evidence that I had given in to temptation — but, of course, there was no evidence.

I still have those dreams from time to time, but they aren't as frequent nor are they as vivid as they were — so I guess I'm winning this battle.

I still refuse to regard myself as an "ex–smoker," even though my friends tell me I have earned the right to think of myself in that way.

But, as I have often written, I think of myself as a "recovering smoker," in much the same way that AA members think of themselves as recovering alcoholics.

I have never met an AA member who believed he/she had won the battle with alcohol. AA members will tell you that they are powerless over alcohol; therefore, they are always vigilant. The battle is not over for them because they know that alcohol will seize control at the first opportunity.

It is with that kind of reverence that I regard nicotine. At this point, I cannot imagine a circumstance in which I would be convinced that the battle was over and I had won. I've had the upper hand for nearly 1,100 days. That is good, but it could all be wiped out if I let down my guard.

Recovering, not triumphant, works for me. What works for you?

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