Work In Progress
“’How now, this smoking no longer serves. Oh, my pipe! Hard it must go with me if thy charm be gone! … What business have I with this pipe? I’ll smoke no more-‘ He tossed the still lighted pipe into the sea.’”
Herman Melville, Moby-Dick, Chapter XXX
“Abstainer: A weak person who yields to the
temptation of denying himself a pleasure.”
Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary
Recently I had a rotten back molar extracted, and the dentist strictly enjoined me from smoking for two weeks. I had stopped before (old joke: “Quitting smoking’s easy; I’ve done it five times”). So I went to the pharmacy and got the usual crutches: nicotine patches, lozenges, and gum. I also consulted my doctor, and she put me on Wellbutrin.
According to an article published by The Oral Cancer Foundation, nicotine is as addictive as heroin, cocaine, opiods, and amphetamines, and more addictive than alcohol. Captain Ahab was a tad obsessive-compulsive about the White Whale when he threw his pipe away, but he became a raving psychotic afterward, because he was going through withdrawal, and he didn’t even have Nicorette Gum.
I got through my two smoke-free weeks without climbing the walls, and decided to try giving up the wicked weed altogether. I’m halfway through my fourth week as a cigarette abstainer, and I don’t appear to be insane. But of course psychotics seem quite rational until they start wearing their dead mothers’ dresses and stabbing people to death.
What made me hope that I might succeed was the fact that some months back, I quit drinking beer. I used to drink at least a six-pack a day; not your sissy Miller Lite, but full-octane Budweiser. Occasionally I’d supplement my guzzling intake with a couple of outsized cans of Molsen’s or bottles of Labatt’s. I was bloated, overweight, and hung over every morning. My wife Patsy was getting fed up with me, and I don’t blame her. But quitting seemed a daunting ordeal. I’m genetically predisposed to be a drunk: my father and mother were alcoholics, and so was my maternal grandfather and one of my great-uncles.
Alcoholics Anonymous vaunts its Twelve-Step Program as the best way to get off the sauce, but its First Step is to admit you’re a drunk and put yourself at the mercy of a Higher Power. Presumably God disapproves of drinking to excess. But according to the Book of Genesis, the first thing Noah did after the Ark reached dry land was to plant a vineyard, and after the grapes were pressed and made into wine, he got so drunk that he passed out. God didn’t smite him, and later on, his son Jesus saved a marriage celebration by turning water into wine. Jesus the Juicer, who knew? AA’s First Step doesn’t square with the Bible, and the serious Christians who founded the organization were technically heretics.
I don’t mean to belittle AA. It has helped a great many people banish the booze, because its process depends on a sponsor who introduces a new member to alcoholics in his or her area, and small weekly gatherings, in church basements or other borrowed conference rooms, in which folks sit in a circle and begin by taking turns saying, “Hello, I’m (first name only), and I’m an alcoholic.” Everyone else welcomes the newcomer with the same phrase, and the group proceeds to share stories about their drinking, and the moment each one “bottomed out,” and realized she or he needed help. Staying sober isn’t easy if you’ve been drinking for a long time, and slips are common. But you can get back with the program by contacting your sponsor, who will remind you that alcoholism is a disease, not a character deficiency, and urge you to attend the next meeting. Since there are AA chapters all over the United States and in many other countries, you can find a meeting even while you’re traveling.
But in the event, I didn’t need AA. I had no trouble at all banishing the brewskis. No DTs, no cravings, no insomnia. In six months I lost sixty pounds, and I’ve kept the weight off, so far. I haven’t stopped drinking alcohol altogether. I still drink wine occasionally, always with Patsy or with dinner guests, and in restaurants I sometimes order a good stiff cocktail. I’m partial to rum drinks, matey, yo ho ho. I never have more than one.
AA does have a useful slogan however. “One Day At A Time” means that one should concentrate on getting through twenty-four hours without drinking, and not worry about tomorrow until it’s today. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” the guy from Galilee suggested in his Chat On The Hill. “Be here now,” said Baba Ram Dass, AKA Richard Alpert. “Let unimportant things go,” the Zen masters counsel.
Easier said than done. I’m beginning my second smoke-free month and I’m trying to apply this sage advice to the tobacco-elimination project. I staple myself to the here-and-now with the force of my will, gritting my teeth whenever the urge to smoke arises, and waiting until it goes away. It helps to take deep breaths, like Miss Alma in Tennessee Williams’s Summer And Smoke, whenever her lust for the handsome, dangerous Doctor Johnny Buchanan gave her the collywobbles. Deep breaths of fresh air don’t make me cough like cigarette puffs do, unless I’m walking down a New York sidewalk and a truck belching diesel exhaust goes past me in the street.
I still use nicotine patches, but I’m about to switch to ones with lower dosages. I suck on peppermint-flavored nicotine lozenges to give my mouth something to do, the way a baby being weaned sucks on a pacifier. It also helps to imagine that there’s a tiny angel standing on my dexter shoulder saying, “Good job! You’re doing great! Keep it up!” and a tiny demon on my sinister shoulder murmuring, “You’re sixty-eight years old. You’ve been smoking since you were sixteen. Quitting now won’t extend your life much, so why deny yourself the pleasure? “
“Apage, Satanas!” I say, using Greek because it sounds fiercer than “Get thee behind me, Satan.” And the little demon goes around to the back of my head. The angel thumbs her nose at him and says, ”Scram!” And he flaps away on his bat wings.
It also helps to keep busy. Buying food, cooking meals, cleaning up afterwards, even taking the trash to the dump, have all become useful distractions instead of routine chores. And now that almost everyone has been vaccinated against Covid, Patsy and I can see our friends and go to restaurants again. It’s nice not being rude because I have to go outside for a smoke in the middle of an interesting conversation.
So everything’s tickety-poo. I feel much healthier, I don’t stink of cigarette smoke any more, and it’s all good.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to step into the next room and bang my head against the wall for awhile.