Quitting Smoking

Holy shit, I quit smoking!  Yeah, here’s how that all happened.  Not afraid to say that it was fear of death that finally pushed me over the edge of contemplation and into the act of doing.  On February 10th, 2006, I lay upstairs in bed trying to sleep.  I had taken my sleeping pills and was well on my way to dream land.  Suddenly, my chest caught on fire.  Not literally speaking but metaphorically that’s what it felt like.  Every breath was fire, my mind started racing around the various reasons why I would feel like this and one of those was that my heart was dying.  That of course made no sense but the thought itself was damaging enough to the frail grip I had on my own panic.  Goddam, it’s not suppose to hurt to breath but it was, intensely.  I put on my clothes and headed to Ingham Medical.  I know it was a stupid thing to do because yes, I could have passed out on the way there but the one shred of sanity told me that there wasn’t anything serious wrong.  That wasn’t exactly correct though.  Once I got my ass into the ER, the docs gave me an IV and took an EKG, my heart wasn’t quite right either, so they gave me nitroglycerine to ease the heart fluttering.  After sitting in the ER for about 6 hours, they woke me up to tell me they were putting me into the heart care unit, I was being ‘checked in’ for a stay.  Stay I did, for 2 days.  Let me tell ya something.  Morphine don’t do SHIT to me but muddy up my brain so I can’t think straight.  Does nothing for pain.  I complained and complained about how fucking bad it hurt to breath and they kept pumping me with morphine even after I told them to stop.  Well, eventually they listened and gave me something, I don’t know what, thoridol or something like it… whatever it was, knocked me clear into left field and I was passed out.  In the meantime, the guy on the other side of the room facing my way was being prepped for an non-intrusive angiogram or something like that, something to do with his heart.  While he was there, he fucking died and was brought back and only a few hours later he was walking around the room talking about going home.  He even took a walk outside to smoke a cigarette.  Man o man, as if all that had happened up to that point with myself wasn’t enough of a convincing factor.  Back to me, after lots of bloodwork and mri’s/cat’s, the spots on my lungs were not cancer but infection.  I had a case of plurisy.  Once they gave me anti-inflammatories and antibiotics the pain went away and they sent me home, 2 days later.  While I was there I had convinced myself that I was done smoking and began to inquire about the different options that I had.  I choose to forgo the whole nicotene replacements and go cold turkey.  So from the moment I took that last hit on Thursday night I have been smoke free.  Now that is just the story leading me up to the point of quitting.  Let me tell ya this, once you push yourself over the edge, for real, you don’t go back.  The thing that convinced me to quit has convinced me to stay that way.  Every urge I get to smoke, I think about that time in the hospital and how shitty I felt, it’s really enough.  I get urges still, but they’re manageable.  I ended up gaining around 30 fucking pounds out of the whole deal because I replaced the habit with eating.  You smokers know how it is when you’re done eating a good dinner, you smoke.  Instead of smoking, I simply ate more as an answer to the urge.  This eating added up.  Thankfully, the weight and bulk is easy for me to shed.  The grumpiness was really bad, was the worse part of the whole thing and lasted about a month.  So there you have it, I quit.

~ by aeroslin on May 16, 2006.

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