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- Soap Box
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- Guest Column
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- Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Cigarettes: none. Dead: three
It’s been two months since I said goodbye to one of my closest friends and allies, the Marlboro Man. Actually, ‘friend and ally’ doesn’t even begin to cut it — we were bum buddies of the highest order.
If I could have found a way to smoke anally without my sphincter coughing, I would have. I’d smoke through my ears and nose if I could — spin me round and I’d become a smoking pinwheel. I was Katy Price and Nicotine was my cage fighter. Children would become alarmed on the street. “Mummy! That man is on fire!” “No darling, he’s just a little highly-strung and taking some ‘me’ time.”
A world without carbon monoxide seemed marginally preferable to me than a world without personal lubricant. Just like Britney, if I left the house and forgot my cigarettes I would start randomly attacking cars with an umbrella — if an umbrella wasn’t available I’d look for a small old person with osteoporosis (they don’t bend so easily). In short, I really enjoyed smoking.
I’d tried nicotine gum and it ended up being just a little treat between cigarettes. An amuse bouche to whet the lungs. The patches made my skin itch, and vomiting and smoking at the same time is a skill maybe only possessed by models (I always ended up inhaling my own stomach bile).
So on a day where I had no plans, I dug through old asthma medication prescriptions to find my script for Champix which had been there for nearly a year. Champix is like the new and improved Zyban. Improved because it doesn’t kill you but still has a list of side effects that would get any hypochondriac salivating — nausea, bad dreams, mood swings, vomiting etc. A few friends had tried it with varying degrees of success. Some had successfully given up while others had learned the model’s secret was to put your smoking arm out like an airplane while vomiting.
Looking back I wonder why I couldn’t have just gone to the tobacconist rather than the chemist.
A friend recounted that Champix had caused her husband to viciously assault her with a bread roll. One minute she was forgetting to put mayo on his sandwich and the next she was ducking for cover as a multigrain roll was hurled toward her head. Her husband was normally a polite, well-mannered man and this fit of fury had apparently left her glad he hadn’t beaten her to death with a packet of Don.
On the upside, both were pleased to report that he had been experiencing erections like granite. I found this encouraging, and since I live a carb-free life, the possibility of a handful of almonds hurtling through the air pales in comparison to the benefits of superman hard-ons. So without much thought, my journey with the little blue pills began.
As chance would have it my side effects closely mirrored those of the bread roll bandits. I no longer need to set my alarm because without fail, like a needy metronome, my willy painfully jabs me in the stomach at 8.30 every morning with all the force of a prize heavyweight … OK a bantamweight.
The rage manifests itself in sudden urges to kick to death anyone who dawdles in front of me in the supermarket. While working in my shop I discovered packing tape and scissors weren’t just useful for gift wrapping. If anyone’s missing from your Christmas lunch this year, I’d suggest checking under the tree.
But like any good Gen X-er, I’m experienced in hangovers that seem like strokes and comedowns where eight jumpers seem barely enough. I’m tough — side effects, shmide effects, I say.
I’m struggling with the necessary cognitive adjustments to convince myself I’m better off as a non-smoker. You want a cigarette all the time and you can’t have one. Smokers are coming into my store and I’m inhaling them. I’m tailgating them on the street in the hope they exhale generously.
It is true that I no longer stink of smoke, ‘money to burn’ now takes on a whole new meaning, I’m no longer a slave to addiction, plus I hopefully won’t get emphysema or throat cancer. This is what I’m trying to focus on — this and the pride that I’ve accomplished what I have so far. I have to remind myself that surely any journey is better than waiting at the station — especially when you don’t have a cigarette.
Tags: Champix, cigarettes, nicotine replacement therapy, quitting
February 3rd, 2010 @ 9:05 pm
. . . .im in my 4th week of Champix. It works like magic . It blocks the impulse of nicotine withdrawal. I have habitual memories associated with smoking yet they are declining rapidly. Its affordable. Its no miracle. One must be determined to stop however its sooo much easier with Champix.