Second Thoughts

So, on my last visit with my sweet old Hungarian doctor I was told I needed to stop smoking. Just as I have been told by other doctors, parents, friends, lovers and coworkers ever since I started smoking. The only difference was that this time I listened, which I am now regretting.

Anti-Smoking Sign, Zion, Illinois (circa 1915)

I am now well into the second week of my Champix-treatment and I passed my preset cutoff date on Thursday. As I was having second thoughts then I moved it to Saturday, i.e. today. I have had a miserable week and have started experiencing some of the side effects of the drug, but have soldiered on despite the clear signs of the onset of another depression.

Those signs are are no strangers to me and I recognize them with a small nod as they turn up, one after the other, like long lost acquaintances. The tiredness, the unsociableness, the complete boredom with everything and everyone (but mainly myself), the feelings of ugliness, unwantedness and self inflicted loneliness and isolation.

Today I did not smoke at all during the whole day, and with the medication that went smoothly - physiologically. I felt almost no withdrawal symptoms from my body and when I did, I sprayed some nicotine in the mouth and they passed within a minute. But emotionally and psychologically I have suffered all day, which is ridiculous really because I didn't really think those parts of me would be the problem.

Intellectually I have accepted the fact that I must quit smoking or else I am well on my way to getting COPD. I can stop that developing by quitting, so I must quit. There really isn't much more to it. I also accept the fact that continued smoking can cause my death or cause other health issues. I am finally well aware of the ever increasing social stigma against tobacco smoking.

Yet, I feel like a part of me is being ripped away, a part that has given me comfort, fun and relief for so many years. What will the new me be like? Will I like it? And is it really necessary for me to live past my 70th birthday, I will not have much of a pension then anyway will I? Why am I doing this to myself?

Anyway, even if I did go out and buy a pack of cigarettes at 10PM local time and have smoked three already, I am going to try again tomorrow.

...and if I don't feel better mentally on Monday I am going to call my doctor and ask his advice on whether to continue or stop the Champix-treatment. 

The Next Step

The time was exactly 8:10 on a beautiful and sunny Tuesday morning when I suddenly found myself laying full length and facedown on the cobblestones outside the main railway station of Malmö.

I had been hastily making my way from the railway station to my sweet, old, Hungarian doctor's surgery nearby, for one of my regular visits. It is still unclear to me whether I tripped on a curb or slipped, but somehow I had barely prevented myself from smashing my teeth and nose on the ground. I could however taste the dust and grit from the street on my lips.

At first I was simply embarrassed and grumbled to myself in my native tongue "satans, helvetes, förbannade, djävla skit", then slowly I started checking sensations from my body to ascertain its condition. I felt a slight pain from my right hand and and wrist and from my right knee, otherwise everything seemed OK. As onlookers hurried to my assistance and asked how I was doing, I slowly rose to my feet again, dusted myself off, smiled shyly and told them that I had been lucky and everything was fine.

The visit with the doctor was good. I could honestly tell him that I was feeling excellent and that I had not had any mood swings since before the summer. He, in turn, informed me that my observations were corroborated by the results of the blood tests, which apparently showed vast improvements from the lifestyle changes I had made.

However, the beneficial news and my lousy results on a Spirometry test that had been conducted recently, moved him on towards urging me to "take the next step", which of course is the favorite subject of any one from the medical professions when they encounter a smoker, i.e. to quit smoking.

My doctor knows me well enough by now than to try to badger me, so the dear man spoke softly and convincingly with me for about twenty minutes and finally made me agree to "move forward". I have now made a commitment to quit smoking and also have the Champix-medication to help me in doing it, whenever I decide to start the cure. It will be my secret and I am not telling anyone, except a few chosen ones so that they can keep their eyes open to signs of recurring depression and other negative side effects.

Later the same day, after lunch, I began feeling stronger pains from my right wrist, especially if and when I tried any rotating movement, and I also noticed a pronounced swelling of my hand and around the wrist. These problem have continued during the rest of the week, but are now slowly getting better. As I am completely right handed, this at the time being means that I prefer chatting in voice and that my last remaining sexual thrills are totally - albeit temporarily - screwed. Hopefully this will soon pass so I can stop feeling sorry for myself and start the new project in making beneficial changes in my life.