Ten Weeks

It's been ten weeks, this time. The last time.

Back in January, Good Witch and I visited some close friends. Their daughter, a free spirit now in her late 30's, met me at the door with a genuine hug. Then she stepped back and said, "You smell like smoke. You need to quit that shit!" She's not bashful, you know.

Later, as we sat and talked with the group, she said that she had quit smoking last year, "cold turkey", after many years of two packs a day. She had suffered for many years with an agonizing knee injury that defied all treatment and put her in a wheelchair for quite awhile. She's still on a heavy dose of big time painkillers (one of her doses would be enough to kill me). In spite of all this, she got through law school while taking care of two kids. That's enough stress to give her a break about smoking, yes? Not smart, but understandable.

After graciously accepting her tough love, I quit the next day after enjoying my last three smokes. I now use some nicotine gum to quiet the craving from time to time, but I've not had any puffs of smoke since then. My senses of taste and smell are recovering nicely, and my blood pressure and pulse rate have come down. And, although I've always worked out pretty hard and hiked the AT while smoking, my stamina is clearly better. This should be the last time I need to quit (I once quit for three years). Strengthening my resolve is the fact that cigarettes in New York now cost almost $8 for a pack; who can afford that?

Isn't it amazing that an otherwise fairly smart guy like me would smoke cigarettes for 43 of the past 46 years? I think it had something to do with being a rebel. Don't need it no more!