Why I Smoked

Did I ever smoke?  DID I ever smoke!  Did I ever smoke!  Did I EVER SMOKE! 
Why?

Although there were several reasons, the most significant and ridiculous was I was my anger at Tom, my first college love. We had made a deal. If he would see a Dr. about the boil on his leg, I wouldn’t start smoking.  He didn’t, so I did. Thus with my very grown up 18-year-old logic, I paid him back.  He was so offended, he broke up with me.  Years later, I learned that he had also become a heavy smoker. 

And so began what became a thirteen year addiction.  I choked and coughed.  My throat was hot; my mouth tasted awful.  It seems like a sane person would immediately give up.  But I persisted.  I learned how to inhale and not cough. I became accomplished at it.  I soon learned how pleasurable smoking was.  What a faithful friend I had found. Was I frustrated?  Smoke a cigarette.  Was I lonely or sad or elated?  Smoke a cigarette.

For the next thirteen years, those little suckers were my constant companions.  No matter what else life presented, as long as I had the money, I could count on the comfort of my Pall Malls. Money wasn’t much of an issue.  In the 60’s, a carton cost less than $3.  That’s 10 packs.  That meant I was taken care of for 8-10 days.  Did I notice I was addicted?  Of course.  Did I care?  Not in the least.  Nor did I care that my habit was dirty, made others uncomfortable, and came before anything else.  Did I have a lovely sexual experience? Yes, but the best thing was that cigarette after.  Was I thrilled to be pregnant?  Absolutely ecstatic.  But I still smoked.  Was nursing my baby the most precious, sacred experience ever?  Yes, but I smoked my way through it.

And so it went for 13 years.  Gradually, I began to regret my habit.  My little girl made it clear she detested it.  My husband patiently said nothing, even after I dropped a lit one in the front seat of his car; even after I burned a hole in my winter coat while driving; even after I dropped a lit one on our friends’ couch one New Year’s Eve.  I was mortified by these accidents, but still I puffed on.

Our pretty white curtains became a light shade of brown.  The walls were dingy.  I always smelled bad. I began to regret this thing that owned me.  I prayed almost nightly to be free.  Next morning, I could hardly wait to have my first one. I switched to low nicotine brands.  I smoked more.  I remember the muscles in my cheeks aching as I struggled to get a good lung-full.

And then one day, when I least expected it, I smoked the last one.  I had gone next door to pick up my daughter and sat listening to my good friend and neighbor.  She was devastated by news that her beloved 56-year-old mother had been diagnosed with lung cancer.  I still remember hearing the news as I smoked yet another cigarette.  And deep inside, a little voice said, “You will never smoke another one.”  I finished the cigarette, smooshed it out in the ash tray, and never smoked again.  That was 44 years ago.

Those first months were agonizing.  If I hadn’t fully realized my addiction before, I sure knew it now.  My stomach hurt, I was grouchy and sluggish.  My family was afraid to ask me anything.  I gained weight, partly because of all the chocolate bars I ate to assuage my longing.  Nearly a year went by and one day an older friend at church, herself a reformed smoker, said she didn’t think I had really “decided” to quit, that I just went from day to day and didn’t smoke.  I took her seriously and in my heart I decided.  From then on, I felt better and better.  One night, driving alone down Grand Avenue in Lansing, Michigan, I shouted, “I am free!”  It was the greatest feeling in the world.  Many times since, I have thought if I can quit smoking, I can do anything.

I’ve learned that in life the things that bring suffering can serve as blessings, too.
So it has been with my smoking addiction.  I never felt that others should do what
I had done.  It was not my place to lecture or feel smug.  What happened to me was miraculous.  I couldn’t take any credit for it.  I always understood how hard it is to let go, how painful, how unsettling, how anxiety producing.  Being around other smokers never
tempted me.  I did feel sorry for them.  As it happened, most of my smoker friends quit in those next few years.  I was happy for them.

Years later, I became a hospital chaplain.  I encountered many smokers, both patients and staff.  Perhaps because of my chaplain’s listening role, many shared their concern and mixed emotions--knowing they should quit, but not wanting to either.  For some patients it was a matter of life or death.  My heart ached for those with lung disease, never able to take a deep cleansing breath, grabbing short breaths, feeling frantic and frightened.  Yet even then, some of them continued to smoke.  When it seemed appropriate, I shared my story.  I never knew if it helped anyone else quit.  I hope so.