smoking

That’s the last cigarette I ever smoked, which happened five years ago today.

I’m happy to say the cravings don’t happen any more, but there is the occasional moment where I’m aware that I would have headed outside back in the day. Also, every once in a while, I find myself reaching toward my pocket for a Zippo lighter that hasn’t been there since 2003. Given that I smoked some 17 years, it probably will take a while longer for that to fade. :)

I don’t miss smoking, something that is proved every day when I don’t wheeze my lungs out going up stairs or on long walks or bicycle rides. Oxygen is good. Carbon monoxide, not so much.

The 600 other ingredients and harmful health effects, not so much either.

More deaths are caused each year by tobacco use than by all deaths from human immunodeficiency virus (HIV), illegal drug use, alcohol use, motor vehicle injuries, suicides, and murders combined. (CDC)

If my lungs were Southern California’s skies, things would be looking really clear right about now.

The various cargo transport systems — planes, trains, boats, and related equipment — would have all shifted to hydrogen fuels.

Most of the internal-combustion cars would be gone, either replaced by hydrogen, or drivers trading in cars for trains, bicycles, and their feet.

It would have taken a while, and of course the odd brush fire or industrial by-products would be popping up and causing problems, but by and large the health of the entire region — of the environment and of the population — would be astoundingly improved.

If only solving our smog woes were as “easy” as quitting smoking, which is to say not easy so much as conceived possible and then perpetuated. Four years ago yesterday, as a matter of fact.

Now, it is true that I’m recovering from an injury suffered whilst performing a healthy activity. The irony is not lost on me.

Being healthy does not mean being risk-free, but doing nothing is guaranteed to kill you.

Today is the 365th day to pass since I quit smoking. The one year anniversary is tomorrow, the 11th.

The bad news is that I still at certain moments crave a cigarette. Or rather, miss smoking. Now, it doesn’t take more than an instant for me to shake my head and utter a wry snort at the idea of resuming the habit. I’ve no interest, much less intention.

One of the more peculiar aspects is having the occasional “using dream,” in which I find myself lighting up for some reason. I immediately feel guilt and extreme disappointment for giving in to the urge. Then I wake up and, despite the relief at it not being for real, still carry a tinge of regret for some time.

I smoked for about 17 years, so I’ve still got 16 to go to beat that record. The good news is that the longer I’ve gone the easier it has gotten not to give in, the less it occurs to me that I was once a daily smoker.

I am immeasurably better off than I was a year and a day ago. And that’s how it works: one day at a time. Nothing any more profound than that.

(2004)

3-(1-Methyl-2-pyrrolidinyl)pyridine

Nicotine is an alkoloid (a substance with a basic charge) contained in the leaves of several species of plants. The primary commercial source of nicotine is by extraction from the dried leaves of tobacco plant (Nicotinia tabaum and N. rustica). The chemical formula for nicotine is C₁₀H₁₄N₂, with a molecular mass of 162.23. In proper nomenclature, nicotine is 3-(1-Methyl-2-pyrrolidinyl)pyridine. Nicotine’s structure was deduced by Pinner (Berichte der Deutschen Chemischen Gesellschaft 29: 294)…

Today is my first day without putting on a new nicotine patch in the morning. So far, a strange day. One that is hard to pin down, like rubbing oil between your fingers.

Posts and news may be sparse for the next few days until I settle into the rhythms of this new version of life. I’ve been looking forward to this day for a while now, ready to be done with 3-(1-Methyl-2-pyrrolidinyl)pyridine and moving forward. I have 57 days of not smoking now — it will be officially two months this Sunday, on Mother’s Day. Sometimes I’m astounded I made it this far. Other times I scowl at the thought and think, “Get back to me when it’s been a year.” Whatever, it still means something.