I stalled for another 2 hours once I realized I was at my LAST cigarette in my LAST pack. I freely admit, I don’t want to quit. However, when faced with brain surgery and learning that nicotine (not just smoke, btw) can prevent the body (especially the brain) from healing as it should, I felt like I really had no option. If I’m going to have this awful scary surgery, why wouldn’t I do everything in my power to try and ensure it goes as smoothly as possible?
I know I’m attaching way too much sentimentality to it, but I smoked my first cigarette sometime around the end of middle school and never looked back. Once I moved out of my parents’ house, I was smoking about a pack a day. And eventually, that turned into about 2 packs a day.
I’m one of those crazy people who “loves” to smoke. There’s no way to explain it to a non-smoker. The feel of that stick between your fingers, the crinkling sound of paper burning when you take a drag, the fire of a well-lit cherry, , and the smoke rolling into your mouth. I will miss all of that.
I know a lot of my beliefs about smoking (it is relaxing dammit) are the nicotine/addiction talking, but whatever. Bottom line is, no matter that I know how bad it is for me, I have continued to smoke. If it weren’t for this blasted surgery, I wouldn’t be doing this….although, with my 40th birthday just around the corner, I was already trying to convince myself it was time to quit. So it’s a little earlier than I wanted, but I know I need to do it….even more so now.
And so, at 8:35pm CT, I smoked my last cigarette. And I cried for the loss of this “friend” I carried with me for the past 25+ years.