Deborah Woehr

Yesterday was supposed to have been my official quit day. Well . . . I didn’t make it. My mistake was having a cigarette when I first woke up, something I’ve done for 22 years. There were three left in the pack, so I thought, “Just smoke these three and then stop.”

Around 2pm, I called my husband out of desperation. I told him what happened. We both agreed that I shouldn’t have had that first cigarette. I heard him puff on his cigarette. I debated aloud whether I should just get in my car, drive to the gas station and buy a damned pack. In the end, that’s what I did. I bought the damned pack, stuffed it into my purse, and then hurried into the garage so I wouldn’t have to look at my youngest because I told him that I was going to stop not three hours before. I failed, but I realized why.

After smoking three cigarettes, I called my grandmother to wish her a happy birthday. We got on the subject of smoking. She is also a smoker, although a light one. Still, she wants to quit again but is having a hard time. I told her what I was taking. She’s going to make an appointment with her doctor to ask about this medication. One thing she mentioned to me was that she had noticed that I got winded a lot while I was down there visiting. That’s been going on for a while, and it’s a major reason why I want to quit.

I continued smoking for the rest of the afternoon and well into the night. Around 10:30pm, my husband and I were sitting in our respective chairs out in the garage, puffing away. I asked him to quit with me. He said okay. Then he proceeded to take my pack and crush it in his vise. It didn’t bother me to see that.

We returned to the living room. He was telling me that he had been kind of down and that perhaps one of the reasons was that he was going to have to quit soon. I told him that I had felt the same way. I was feeling okay in the beginning of the week. But as my “quit date” loomed, I became more anxious and depressed. Like I said before, once you start smoking, the cigarette becomes your friend . . . a very high maintenance one.

This morning I did not start the day with a cigarette. I dropped my youngest off at a friend’s house for the day, then took my oldest to the bookstore and out to lunch. For the first time since I can remember, I didn’t have the urge to run out of the restaurant after I paid the check so I could satisfy a craving. It felt so good just to sit there and have a conversation with my son.

I didn’t have any problem driving without having a cigarette in my hand. As soon as I pulled into my driveway, the cravings began. They’re moderate, compared to how I felt when I was using the Patch. The biggest challenge occurs while I’m sitting at the computer. I’m so used to getting up and moving to the garage. I won’t be doing that anymore.

As soon as we got in the house, I called my husband to see how he was doing. He had called earlier to tell me that his office stank and how grateful he was to find an empty pack on one of the presses. It’s going to be harder for him because he works with three smokers. That makes me glad that the weekend is coming. So far, he hasn’t had a single cigarette. I’m happy to report the same.