Time to quit: Other people’s stories

When you’re the last smoker in the once-hazy newsroom, it’s time to quit. So I asked colleagues who are veterans of this not-smoking thing how they did it:

This March will mark the 10th anniversary of the start of my current and most successful attempt to quit smoking after more than 30 years of almost tireless financial support of Ontario’s tobacco farmers.

I had tried quitting once before, about two years earlier, in an effort that lasted a full year before I pronounced myself able to have “just one or two on special occasions.” I was apparently able to find 20 or more such special occasions each and every day.

There were two things that immeasurably helped in my second attempt to quit. The first was the fact that I had been asked to blog and write a weekly column sharing my experience with readers. This was to span the first month, and it effectively ensured that I would last at least those 31 days. There was no way, after all, that I was going to put myself in the position of having to confess to those dozens of readers that I had failed (nor would I lie). It actually made that first month, which I imagine to be the most difficult, unexpectedly easy.

The second thing that helped was my first failed attempt. I thought that because I had lasted a year I was home-free and could have that occasional smoke. My mantra now is, “I am strong because I know I

am weak.” — Bruce Deachman

December 1983. I was 29 years old, and had been smoking a pack a day of Players’ Filter for a decade. Just as bad, I had lost 25 pounds following an extended bout of mononucleosis. Drastic measures were called for. It was time to quit.

I targeted Boxing Day because I figured if I just got through the first week, I’d be on my way — and I had the week off. Got off to a bad start, though. I had cigarettes before and after breakfast on Dec. 26.

I switched my goal — just get through 24 hours. Mind games. If I quit at 11 a.m., I reasoned, that would be 13 hours by midnight. A long sleep and I would be almost there.

So that’s how I got through Day 1. After that, it was a question of quelling the physical pangs.

The trick was to have one thing, one thought that would make me say “no” — in my case it was the idea that I never wanted to quit again, to go through this again. This was it.

The second trick was to try to block the inevitable panic of not having cigarettes around. I dealt with it by carrying around my last pack of smokes in my breast pocket for a year. If I absolutely had to have one, it was right there. Somehow that calmed me. — James Bagnall

After a devastating personal tragedy eight years ago, I was coping with my grief alone, passing mid-winter days and nights sitting in the dark next to my wood stove. I was mindlessly lighting each cigarette with the butt of the previous one.

I was no longer enjoying them; it was as if smoking was simply a reflex of existence. Until. Until …

I looked at the cigarette in my hand as I struggled to contain the vile taste in my mouth. With that, I tossed the cigarette in the wood stove. I packed up the three bags of “Indian cigarettes” I’d laid in and delivered them to a grateful neighbour. And that was it.

I haven’t had one since. Cravings? My doctor had been after me for years to quit. I wasn’t interested in smoking-cessation drugs or aids, acupuncture, hypnotism or gum. But one thing he said had stuck with me: the cravings only last a few minutes; you only need to get through a few minutes. Frequently at first, of course. But the frequency eases, the cravings lessen. Soon you no longer want to reward yourself with “just one” — the sure way to fall off the wagon as I had dozens of times. — Dave Dutton