Love in the Time of Smoking

I grew up believing that smoking was bad for you. I have noticed lately that there are PSAs airing on TV that offer a jarring look at the effects of smoking. Those were not around when I was growing up, but I did know that it was not good. My dad smoked, though, and I remember bugging him to quit. I would rifle through his drawers, find them, and confront him about his smoking.

In high school, there were girls on the swim team who smoked. I thought that was kind of contradictory, as you needed good lung capacity to be able to swim well. I would stand near them after practice, waiting to be picked up. I didn't confront them about their smoking; I knew, somewhere in the recesses of my brain, that I should just keep my mouth shut.

I don't know when my curiosity about smoking started. I have always loved movies and I think maybe seeing movies where smoking was heavily featured piqued my interest. The logical part of my brain knew that smoking was wrong, but there was something that also seemed cool. As I struggled with my weight, I noticed that people who smoked were thin. Somewhere in my brain, I made an illogical connection between the two ideas.

I had friends of friends in college who smoked. I had ceased being an athlete at that point, but I still knew it wasn't good. I also knew that my friends wouldn't tolerate my smoking (think Chandler in Friends). I continued to have some curiosity about it, but was able to keep those thoughts at bay.

Then, I got news that my dad's oldest brother, Marco, had been diagnosed with prostate cancer. He was living in Houston at the time. My dad and I took a road trip down to see him.

My dad's whole family are heavy smokers (even Marco, who was a cardiologist and Adolfo, who is a general practitioner). There was never a time that they got together where there wasn't a lot of smoking. It just was part and parcel with the copious amounts of alcohol they consumed. Upon arriving in Houston, we were relieved to see that my uncle was in good shape. It's important to note that he fought the cancer for 10 years before succumbing. It became just a regular family visit, with Spanglish spoken liberally, NBA finals on TV and, of course, lots of alcohol.

It was at the point that I finally succumbed to my curiosity. Marco smoked Benson & Hedges 100s. I am not sure where everyone was the afternoon I first tried a cigarette. I checked around to see where my dad was and when I was certain he wasn't around, I took a cigarette and a lighter, went outside, crouched down beside the air conditioning unit and tried to light up.

Smoking is not comical, but my first attempt at lighting up was. Because I was on my own, I had no one their to coach me on technique. I kept blowing out the flame on the lighter until I realized I had to inhale as I was lighting it. I didn't cough, I didn't get light-headed, I didn't throw up from the taste of tobacco. Unfortunately, my first time smoking was delightful. I felt like a rebel, but because I wasn't really a rebel, I didn't smoke again until after I got home.

My first experience buying cigarettes was pretty funny, too. There seem to be about 100 different types of cigarettes at any given convenience store. I had only smoked Benson & Hedges, but I guess I figured I would buy Marlboro. I am disgusted to think that I smoked Marlboro Reds for a short time. I had to, always, always, always, have a Diet Coke when I smoked a cigarette. I never chewed gum when I smoked. I always took my time with a cigarette. If I didn't have a full 5 minutes to smoke a cigarette, I wouldn't smoke one.

There was a point, shortly after becoming a smoker, where I did finally inhale properly. This elicited some coughing, but overall I adjusted quite well. Over the years, I stayed pretty loyal to Marlboro. I switched to Menthol after a while, but I can't remember when.

Not too long after I started smoking regularly, I was confronted by my friend Joy about the smell in my car. I tried to blame it on the mechanic who had recently fixed my car. She didn't press the issue, but she later told me there is a difference in smell when someone is directly smoking and when they have just been near someone who is smoking.

To my chagrin, smoking didn't really enable more weight loss. That didn't stop me from doing it, though. I absolutely loved everything about it. I enjoyed after-meal cigarettes, that first cigarette in the morning, the just before bed cigarette. I smoked when I drove and on more than one occasion, flicked a lit cigarette butt into my back seat. I am fortunate that I never caused an accident. When I moved to the south side of Chicago with my dad, I mostly smoked between classes. I was afraid of him finding out about my bad habit. I became an RA at Chicago State and had to smoke outside in the back of the building. None of this deterred me or became an impetus to quit.

My dad and I made a trip to Mexico one year between Christmas and New Year's. I knew smoking was going to be tricky. Even though everyone smoked like a chimney, there was not going to be many opportunities for me to do it on the sly. I drove into Mexico with my cousin Hector (also a doctor and a smoker) and bummed a couple of smokes off of him. We went up into the mountains that year. It was beautiful; I still remember the views. As our time there wore on, it became more and more apparent that I wasn't going to be able to smoke. There was a carton of Benson & Hedges sitting, opened, on the top of the refrigerator. Where we were staying, though, didn't allow for me to be secretive.

The trip was cut short when I was catapulted off the back of a horse. I had, for many years, been involved in horseback riding. I took lessons, went to summer camps and even worked as a horse wrangler one summer. I loved horses. When I was asked if I wanted to ride a horse through the mountains of Mexico, there was no hesitation in saying yes. I realized right away, though, that I was having issues. I couldn't get settled into the saddle. I got my feet into the stirrups okay, but I couldn't quite sit myself correctly. (Later, I found out that it was a children's saddle; no wonder I couldn't get settled.) The woman who took me out asked if I wanted to run the horses a bit. Although I was apprehensive, I felt I couldn't say no to such a rare opportunity. There was a feeling I remember of freedom, of the wind whipping around me, and terror, because I knew I wasn't really in control of the horse. We made a turn into a more populated area, still running. The horse I was riding ran straight at a tree. The tree and I made contact at my right shoulder. I was immediately thrown off the back of the horse, who was still running. Not only did I have the wind knocked out of me, but I was surrounded by native Spanish-speakers. I couldn't get enough breath to communicate to them in either language the agony that I was experiencing.

I spent New Year's Eve that year lying in bed. I had a sip of champagne, but otherwise I was in too much pain to participate. I spent 8 hours the next day in an ER just over the border in Texas. I was in excruciating pain the whole time. I found out that I hadn't dislocated my shoulder, but the entire upper left quadrant of my torso was black and blue.

Having a cigarette was out of the question. When we got back to Chicago and got settled, though, my first order of business was to get some smokes. I was still convalescing and had hidden my smokes in my car. There was one day that I asked my dad to get something out of the car. He burst back into our apartment, my cigarettes in his hand, asking "what the hell are these?"

My secret was out. I felt ashamed because I knew I was doing something I shouldn't, but at the same time I felt like he couldn't judge me.

I smoked for 4 more years after that. It went from being something I enjoyed to being a compulsion. In 2001, I contracted a bad case of bronchitis. I stayed home a few days from work because I was coughing so violently. Nonetheless, I smoked the whole time. I smoked on my way to work, in my apartment, everywhere. It was around this time that I started walking 30 minutes a day. I would go for my walk, come back home and light up a cigarette. I ran my very first 5K in November of 2002 and twenty minutes after that race was done, I lit up.

Brian quit smoking in October of 2001. We started dating in December of that year. To his credit, he never picked up the habit again (or since). He used to love to watch me smoke, though. He said I made it look really good.

As I became more committed to fitness, it seemed more and more ridiculous to keep smoking. Yet I continued. I remember going to the gym, running on the treadmill, lifting weights, stretching, and then lighting up as soon as I got in the car. I couldn't start getting ready for work in the morning until I had a cigarette, even if I woke up late (which I frequently did). I had a very tight budget at the time (I was paying off some credit card debt and living well below my means), but I still found money for cigarettes.

In November of 2002, Brian and I went to see his aunt and uncle in Springfield. I decided to try to quit that weekend. I knew they wouldn't approve of me smoking and didn't want to deal with the criticism. By the end of the weekend, I was in such a mood that Brian came very close to buying me a pack. I started smoking again, swearing that I would quit when we went to Cancun the next month. He made me promise that I wouldn't.

Early the next year, I decided I had had enough. It was too much money and discomfort and misery to keep smoking. I talked to my doctor, got on Zyban (Wellbutrin), and within 2 weeks, I had no more desire to smoke. Meanwhile, I continued to persevere with my workout routine. I planned, trained for and ran my first half marathon in Highland Park. I am happy to report that I've been quit for over nine years.

I will say this, though. I have quit some stuff in my time, but smoking is one of those things that psychologically still has a hold on me. There are still times I wish I could have a cigarette. In times of stress, or emotional disturbance, there is a part of me that wants to run out and buy a pack. I have had multiple smoking dreams, where I wake up convinced that I've had a cigarette.

Earlier this summer, a friend of mine (from whom I'm now estranged), starting smoking again. There were a few times she invited me over to hang with her and I wasn't able to make it. I am glad, though, that we missed each other because I am not sure I could have resisted the temptation to start smoking again.

I no longer think smoking is cool. I remember smelling my laundry after I'd quit and realizing how awful the smell was. I couldn't believe that Brian had stuck with me through that smell. I get headaches now, migraines, if I'm even in the vicinity of cigarette smoke. I haven't become a militant ex-smoker, but I simply can't tolerate it at all.

I have talked to other ex-smokers and their experience has been the same. They miss it more than it seems logical to do. We will reminisce and wax nostalgic about something that causes multiple types of cancers and other awful diseases. People who have never smoked look at us with horror on their faces. It's inconceivable to them that such an awful habit could be enjoyable. I can't begin to make sense of it, but all the same there's a part of me that still misses it. Go figure.