In some ways, I don’t feel like I should really celebrate today. In other ways though, it really is worth marking the day.
It’s an anniversary day for me. Nothing really big, but in some ways it is. As of today, I have been tobacco free for three years.
It’s almost embarrassing to admit I was a smoker. I’m not sure how it really started. I could say that all the cool kids were doing it at the time, but that’s not really true. But it happened. And I smoked, on and off for many years.
My father had been a smoker and quit. He was far more a heavy smoker than I ever was and I saw how he struggled to give them up. You might think I would have clued in from that. But I didn’t.
By the time I quit, I was not a heavy smoker at all. In fact, a pack of cigarettes would last me two or three days or more. I had cut back considerably, and was trying to kid myself by thinking I wasn’t really what you would call a smoker any more. But really, I was.
I very clearly remember the day I quit. Mostly because there was a little more to it than just tossing the smokes. On March 3, 2019 there was a bit of snow on the ground. I got up, had a coffee and a cigarette and cleared my driveway. I had another smoke and headed down the street to clear my mother’s driveway. I had finished that and was about to help a neighbour when I had a heart attack.
At the time, I wasn’t really sure it was a heart attack. I argued with my wife about it for a while until she finally convinced me that grey is not a good skin colour and I should go get checked out. So she drove me to the hospital where they told me that I was indeed having a heart attack.
I still wasn’t really convinced. I was in pretty good shape. I was active. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did.
They don’t let you smoke when you’re in a hospital. So after I was told once or twice I should consider quitting, they asked if I would need a patch. I declined. I didn’t need it. I just stopped. There were a couple doctors and probably a nurse or two who told me it likely was a contributing factor to what was going on, so it seemed like a good idea to quit. So I did. I could try to say there was more to it than that, but I just decided I was going to stop. As of right then.
I won’t say I didn’t have cravings. I still do, at times. I just refuse to give in. And I also know very few would just be able to tell themselves they can stop and do it. But somehow I have managed to pull it off. And I intend to continue that way.
And I am finally starting to notice a difference. I can breath a little easier. I can taste things a bit better. For the first year or more I can’t say I noticed any of this, but I can now. And I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner.
It should not have taken a major medical emergency to convince me to do this, but in some ways I’m glad it happened. And it might seem like a pretty small thing in many ways, but I’m still going to just quietly celebrate. I know there are others who feel the same way.
I have managed to do a few things in my life. Not all of them are worth bragging about. But this is one worth celebrating. At least for me.
