SHAME faced, I wanted to tear out my heart with bare hands, hold up the weak mush to the heavens and scream: Woe be me! I’m useless!
I’d just smoked 20 Red Band straight off and was regretting every puff. Who’d of thought two weeks ago I’d go from 0 to 20 overnight?
I was a failure. My quest for a smoke-free life was over. …Or was it?
Five years ago, when I attempted to kick the nicotine habit, I was struck off the Smoke Stop course at my GP’s - for admitting I was desperate to smoke and very likely to leave the room and light up. I couldn’t re-start for six months. Hence, I didn’t go back until last March.
This time, it was a different story.
When I spoke to my Smoke Stop nurse, I’d puffed my way through about five cigarettes. Honesty is the best policy. I explained: I’d lost my concentration levels half way through the second week of reduced strength patches and hadn’t managed to recover. I hit deadline at work and convinced myself the only way there was going to be a Midweek Herald this week was if I smoked. Hence I got in my car, drove to Somerfield at Broadclyst, and bought a packet of cigarettes.
It wasn’t the end of the world, she told me. Apparently, relapses are part of giving up. I’d gone seven weeks without a cigarette which, she thought, was quite an achievement for a hardened addict.
She asked what I intended to do with the rest of the cigarettes – the ones I hadn’t smoked but still had. I said I was going to visit a friend, whose boyfriend was in hospital following a serious accident, and that I’d give them to her. My friend’s a shameless smoker, with no intentions of giving up.
That was acceptable.
The nurse duly arranged for me to have more regular appointments, to see me through this weak period, and gave me another prescription for patches.
I was thrilled and had no intention of smoking again that day or, indeed, ever.
I rushed over to my friend’s, at Charmouth, and was about to give her the cigarettes when her phone rang.
It was dreadful news. Her boyfriend had no chance of survival. She had to make arrangements to get to Southampton General Hospital to say her goodbyes.
I agreed to stay at her house overnight, to look after her children.
Automatically, without even thinking about it, I just puffed my way through every single cigarette left in that packet.
The following day, I stank of smoke. The smell made me feel sick. And my breathing had deteriorated. I hated myself. I didn’t smoke again.
My patch is back on. I’ve got my inhalator at my side. I’m determined to continue with my quest to be a non-smoker.