I haven’t smoked a cigarette in 40 days.
I actually counted this up on the calendar yesterday, just because I was curious. And because I smoked in my dream the night before. I woke up feeling horribly guilty… and it took me half the day to realize that it was only a dream, that I didn’t really smoke a cigarette, that my lungs were still functioning properly… and that I could relax.
I’m starting to realize that it won’t ever get any easier. That every time I see someone else smoking or find Nick’s cigarette pack sitting on the table, I’ll have a momentary pang of regret that I’m not still “allowed” to be a smoker. But, it really is only momentary. Then my brain kicks in and calls up memories of being unable to breathe and sitting on oxygen for 10 days… heading to the operating room to have my lungs cleaned out… that nasty cough that I’d lived with for months prior to my hospitalization. And I’m reminded of why I DON’T want to be a smoker, ever again.
I know, firsthand, that it’s totally not worth it. And I’m just obnoxious enough to be one of THOSE ex-smokers, who will lecture anyone who will listen… about how it’s totally NOT worth it. Because it’s not.