Assessment: Ex-Smoker

I went to see my pulmonologist on Tuesday afternoon for the monthly check-up of my progress with Champix. Let's call him Dr. Turtlehead, shall we, because he always comes amazingly late. I was at his clinic at 2pm and he didn't show up till 4:30. By the time my name was called, my ass was the shape of the plastic chair I had been sitting in for the past two and a half hours. The woman patient who was ahead of me in line was cursing under her breath and probably would have tried to kill the doctor if someone had handed her a weapon. I didn't feel that I had as much cause to complain because Dr. Turtlehead sees me for free (he used to share a clinic with my mother at VRP, but let it not be said that I'm a complete leech -- I've been giving him gifts in exchange for being "NC" (that's 'no charge' to you), the last of which was a bottle of civet coffee).

Anyhoo, this is what it says now in my medical record at Dr.Turtlehead's office: "assessment: ex-smoker". Tuesday afternoon was my final day on Champix. I was on it these past three months, and excepting one incident of smoking six cigarettes on a single day last December, I've been clean and nicotine-free so far. I'm not entirely confident that I can resist the urge to smoke now that I've gone off the drug, but I can't say that I'm not relieved that I don't have to pop another of those vile blue tablets. They gave me terrible nausea. Worse than being in a carnival ride that repeatedly hangs you upside down until you toss your cookies. I guess I'll just have to trust that I've had enough of a mind-fix to know better than to throw three whole months of good behavior away.

I think about cigarettes a whole lot less than I used to. I used to wake up in the morning with the first thought in my head being "coffee and a smoke". These days I hardly ever remember that cigarettes even exist, and only recall that there are such things when I happen to see someone having a puff while walking down the street, sucking his cheeks in, purple lips making an "o" to exhale poison smoke. I never would have thought it possible, but I cringe at the thought that I used to look that way, and that I thought it was cool! Holy cow, the things nicotine does to your head.

Now that I don't think about Marlboros anymore, I spend all this freed-up head space thinking about food. Particularly cake, cheeseburgers and fries, pizza, green curry chicken, and the fishballs at Yakal dorm. Couple of nights ago I dreamt I was looking at the display case of a cake shop and writing names of pastry on a list. Even my subconscious wants food. Got chow? Gimme.