DAY 118: What a difference a hundred days make

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It’s actually quite frightening that it’s been 100 days since I last posted. Apologies to any of you that have been wondering what the flippin’ heck happened to me and whether I’ve been holed up in a cave with 1,000 Marlboro Lights, puffing merrily away.

I can safely assure you that I haven’t had a fag in 118 days.

In that time I have (according to my nifty little iPhone app MLC) saved £284.44, and my life expectancy has increased by two days, 20 hours, 50 minutes and 11 seconds.

During this same time period, 1.1m people around the world have died from smoking related diseases according to World Health Organisation statistics. You might have guessed I’m a gal who likes stats.

Has it been doddle? No. Have I wanted to smoke at times? Hell to the yes. But how many fags have I had? None, nada, zip, zilch.

The last few weeks on Champix

I did my full 12 week course on Champix (affectionately known in my household as the pigs). I was glad to be rid of it to be honest – remembering to take two pills a day was starting to annoy me and I do think it had a few subtle effects on me over the weeks.

Nothing to alarm me and certainly nothing to do with my moods – more, erm, as we’re among friends, to do with my stomach (a wind-tasm).

Which just goes to show how personal the Champix experience is and how it affects people in different ways – and that’s why it’s good to get it through a GP or smoking counsellor who can help you out with what you’re going through and let you know if it’s “normal” or not.

So I approached my last day of the pigs with joy and a little apprehension of what would happen when I came off them.

To be honest the quitting experience had been pretty easy. Yes I had days when I wanted to smoke but all the “cravings” were linked to habit and nostalgia and, after a few wistful sighs, I could squash them all – nothing threatened to tip me over the edge at any point.

But what would happen when I came off the drugs for good and had to stand on my own two feet?

Finishing the course of Champix

My smoking counsellor had told me just to go from the two pills a day without weaning myself off but I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure I agreed with her. So I did a bit of self-medicating and went down to one a day for about a week instead.

I wasn’t really prepared for what happened next – within three days of coming off the pigs I became very nervous and stressed, complete with panics and sweats.

Two weeks later I woke up one morning and I was as right as rain.

Mr B and I discussed this at length and concluded that while external factors could be blamed in part (stressy times at work etc), those cheeky little pigs definitely played a part.

After speaking to my two friends who both quit with the pigs, they said they didn’t experience anything like this at all so, again, it’s such a personal thing.

I’m pleased to report that these days I’m as chilled as a bean again.

Did I want to smoke after coming off Champix?

Yup. Sorry dudes but I did. But I haven’t. Because I figured that after 12 weeks off the fags, I’ll be darned if I’m starting up again now and going through all of that again.

Plus I know that if I do have a fag it’ll taste like crap and I’ll wonder 30 seconds later why the hell I bothered, yet then I’ll be hooked again.

Whenever I’m having a tough day I read this website post that was recommended to me on a stop smoking forum and it really, really helps me – mainly I think because it busts all the myths around smoking and the effect I think it has on me.

I still think about smoking and I know I’ve got a while to go before I go a full day without thinking about fags but the gaps are getting longer.

And when I think back over the last few months I don’t feel that my life and the experiences I’ve had have been any less enjoyable as a result of not being able to smoke – and, in fact, in a lot of cases, they’ve been better.

Challenges lie ahead – my first post-smoking holiday for one. But the ones I’ve handled so far include: horrendous day at work leaving me in tears, close friend’s hen night, incredibly drunk at a wedding, nice weather and sitting outside at the pub.

Wedding plans!

It’s nice to have something to look forward to and mine is being at my wedding, fag free, hurrah! It’s only SEVEN weeks away and I am beyond excited.

And I can happily say that I have not put on any weight – and I firmly believe that if you exercise regularly and don’t snack (at least not on bad things..) you won’t either.

I promise to be a bit more regular and thanks for bearing with me.

On that note, I bid you farewell and say: day 118? That’s a third of a year baby!

DAY 17: What shall I do with the £21,900 I’ve saved from not smoking?

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Today my trusty iPhone app informed me that I had saved £42.97 since my quit. For a shopaholic like me, this is most exciting news indeed.

I always told myself that money wasn’t an issue when it came to smoking. ‘I don’t mind spending money on things that I enjoy, and that enrich my life’, I told myself.

My decision to quit smoking was much more about the health reasons than the financial. But, when my app told me I’d save £21,900 over 25 years, suddenly the financial reasons were looking pretty interesting.

Kind of puts it into perspective doesn’t it. I have spent literally thousands of pounds over the last 13 years on fags.

But in 25 years, when I’m cruising around in my super swanky car, who’ll be laughing then? Huh? Me I hope.

Here’s what I plan to do with my £22k:

(1) Go on an amazing holiday somewhere totally lush and prohibitively posh
(2) Hire a personal trainer to make sure that I look totally lush and prohibitively posh on said holiday
(3) Erm, probably get a new washing machine or something

Whatever I spend that money on, whether it’s a new pair of M&S pants or a flashy sports car, I know I’ve given myself my best shot of being there in 25 years to see it.

In a world where times are tough and purse strings are being tightened, it feels good to be able to pat myself on the bottom, Asda style, and know that I’m not only giving myself a chance of a healthy future, I’m also saving wads of cash.

And I can’t wait to spend that £21,900 in 25 years (okay, well, a bit less then because I may have gone a bit crazy at Westfield on Saturday and bought me some Jimmy Choo wedding shoes. But, you know, I’ve already saved £42.97 right? So I’m totally nearly there).

With a light heart and a heavy purse, I can now say: Day 17? Ching ching.

 

DAY NINE: If you can spend a Saturday night in O’Neill’s without smoking, you can do anything

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Saturday dawned bright, snowy and full of hope. The world was our oyster. We could do anything we wanted – be anything we ever dreamed of.

So of course we went to Upper Street in Islington and danced to cheese in O’Neill’s till 1am.

To be fair, it was not our love of dodgy pubs, lairy stag dos and skanky loos that pulled us into this godforsaken establishment – it was the only pub on the whole street that had a table free.

My comrades and I are old now, people, we need to rest our weary legs. We are no longer cool enough to stand. We have been relegated to the old people’s section at the back.

Battle of the booze

After being booze free for the first eight days of my quit, I was very nervous about having a drink. I know that booze and fags are frenemies and alcohol is the reason for 50 per cent of relapses.

I had planned to stick to sparkling water all night but I decided I’d have to try it eventually and I was feeling pretty strong and resolved.

So after warning my friend that I would be heading home the minute I started to feel miserable or tempted, off we went to meet some old workmates.

Fast forward to the early hours and I’m dancing along having the time of my life and, in all honesty, I can safely say I didn’t even want a cig. Not once.

There were a few moments when some of my pals headed out for a cheeky puff and it felt very surreal, like I should be going with them and the world was out of kilter because I didn’t.

But then some terribly wonderful song, like Beyonce’s Single Ladies, would come on and I’d booty shake myself out of my confusion, with everything forgotten 10 seconds later.

Having tried, and failed miserably, to quit many, many times before, I have never felt this way before and it’s truly, wonderfully liberating.

I credit it to all the reading I’ve been doing on the internet courtesy of some great tips from my friends at the Quit Smoking message board, the lovely messages of support and, of course, those little cham-pigs.

Passing the week mark

They say the first week is the worst. In my personal experience that’s not always the case. The novelty of that first week often keeps me going – like the first few days of a diet.

Then the novelty wears off and I think: ‘sod this for a game of soldiers, life is far too short to feel this deprived’.

So I know tough times lurk around every corner, twist and turn. But I think me and my SMINTs can take ‘em.

Wedding planning is a good distraction

I’ve gone a bit bridezilla this weekend – scouring the internet for cool wedding related stuff. Hours of fun for no one apart from me. Although Mr B has been good at feigning interest.

But I found some super cool stuff for anyone planning a wedding – check out the coolest wedding invitations I have ever seen and the best table plan ever created.

Last week dad and I went to check out wedding cars and he was a little dadzilla himself, truth be told. You know what I mean, the old: “Well obviously you would not want this car, you would want that car over there, it’s a no brainer you stupid girl. But it’s your choice.”

Happily, I popped a SMINT in my mouth, gave him a wide grin and said: “Gosh dad, you are SO clever and, of course, absolutely right.”

Some battles are worth fighting, some aren’t. And right now, the only battle me and the pigs are concerned with are giving up cigs. And we’re winning so far.

 

 

DAY FIVE: Giant Toblerone vs cigarettes

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I’ve been a bit quiet for a couple of days – fear not, I have not been sitting on the sofa in my flannel dressing gown, with my hair in rollers, while I chain smoke Rothmans.

Actually I’ve been a bit busy and, well, life has gone on without cigs. That’s not to say there haven’t been temptations – hell, I’m only a human trying to give up fags, Wonder Woman I am not.

One of my favourite things to do after a morning staring at my computer screen was to head down to the kitchen, put my lunch in the microwave (I don’t like sandwiches – I know, I’m weird) and nip out for a cig in the yard outside while I waited for the ping to tell me it was done.

In my new, fag-less existence do I:

a) Sprint up two flights of stairs to my desk, with just enough time to read half an email before I have to dash downstairs to retrieve said lunch.
b) Stare morosely at the microwave thinking about how much I miss cigarettes and waiting desperately to hear that sad little ping.
c) Eat the entire giant Toblerone bought by the latest colleague to pass through duty free, which is staring at me with seductive, chocolaty eyes from the kitchen surface.

I still haven’t figured this one out guys so, please, answers on a postcard.

Passing the carbon monoxide test

This evening I had my weekly check in with my smoking counsellor to make sure the cham-pigs weren’t doing funny things to me and that I was doing what I was told (not smoking).

I scored 10 in my carbon monoxide test last week (light smoker-ish levels) and I was nervous about breathing down that cardboard tube tonight, which is utterly ridiculous given that I know carbon monoxide leaves your body very quickly and there was no way that I’d be over the respectable, non-smoker limit. Call it a guilty conscience.

So I was gleeful when it showed a carbon monoxide level of two – perfectly normal my counsellor explained, in a world where fumes lurk everywhere we turn and very few people score a zero.

I must admit, going to the counsellor each week for that test and to talk things through is really helpful – I recommend it to any folk wanting to quit.

A SMINT-asm

I’m still SMINTing it up on a regular basis – although I think that is, in large part, due to how lush they are – have you tried the new raspberry and lemon ones? Taste like Refreshers I tell you.

Whenever I leave work – a classic light up a cig, relax and let the stresses of the day drift away, instead I reach for one of my fruity SMINT buddies.

And it’s weird, but as I enter the train station, I am feeling just as good and ready for the evening ahead as if I’d had a cig. Now I know my fruity buddies are good but they’re not THAT good. Could it be… that the cig I used to have did absolutely nothing for me?

On that bombshell, I’d like to say – day five? As demolished as that giant Toblerone.

DAY TWO: Always go to Wahaca AFTER trying on bridesmaids dresses

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When my sister got married in 2011 we had a lovely lunch at one of our favourite eateries, Wahaca, before heading over to the shops to try on bridesmaids dresses. It’s safe to say I had a burrito baby bump in every frock I tried.

So this time around, my friend Sare and I headed over to the bridal boutique first thing in the morning, before heading to Wahaca post dress shopping. Waking up fresh faced from my successful first day of quitting, I knew I had a very fun, but challenging, day ahead.

Sare is my smoking buddy. I only have to look at her to want to drag her outside so we can light up and have some girly gossip.

So I armed myself with SMINTs and chewing gum and off I went.

Chain SMINTing

I’m not going to lie. It was pretty tough. There was some serious SMINTing going on. I was a SMINT fiend. A chain SMINTer if you will. This was definitely tougher than day one.

However, in hindsight (oh, hindsight, you are a wise little minx), I had just as lovely a day as I would have done with a fag or three. Which kind of shatters my biggest, lurking feeling about smoking – the thing that has defeated me on previous quits – that life is just not as fun without fags.

After parting ways, I power-walked home from a train station a couple of miles away from my flat to burn off a bit of the burrito baby (well, one refried bean of it probably) and I felt much better for it.

By the time I got home, I was feeling rather fresh. The next challenge was coping with Saturday night (the evil twin of Friday night).

Home alone

Mr B was out doing manly things – watching footie and drinking beer – so I had to battle my demons alone. I reached for my laptop and bashed out a blog post (the Champix one, if you’re interested).

Then I decided to do a bit of surfing the quit smoking forums to see if there were any likeminded guys or gals out there on a Saturday evening.

I stumbled upon the Quit Smoking Messageboard and, with my new quitter’s enthusiasm, decided to leave a post introducing myself. It’s all part of my theory that the more public I go about my smoking quit, the more ashamed I’ll be to relapse.

Ex-smokers old and new – and kindred spirits

The response I got made me feel a bit emotional. There was an outpouring of warm welcomes, a promise that someone will always be there to support me and a demand that I promise to post an SOS if I’m thinking of having a cig.

In short, the most lovely, kind messages you could imagine from a group of people who have never met me but genuinely wish me the best.

So, with a touched heart, and some motivating words, I can SAFELY say: day two? Heck yeah!

Deciding to try Champix

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If you’ve ever thought about quitting, the idea of Champix (or cham-pigs as it will forever be affectionately known thanks to Mr B), may have crossed your mind.

I’d known about it for a while because three of my friends took it a couple of years ago and quit successfully.

But it always seemed like a bit of an extreme measure. Firstly, having to go to the doctor or nurse and admit I was a smoker was pretty scary (don’t forget, I’m a bit of a red-faced closet smoker).

Then the idea of actually taking medication that affects your BRAIN seemed a bit excessive.

And finally, cham-pigs have got a reputation. There are reports about a link between the little blue pills and depression, and even allegations that it led to users committing suicide.

So all in all, who would be mad enough to try the stuff?

The last resort?

For me, after several failed attempts to quit in the varying forms of cold turkey, NRT, hypnotism and Allen Carr, cham-pigs was a last resort. But it was one based on research, long conversations with my friends who had successfully quit using it, and a frank discussion with the smoking adviser.

I learned that some people had side effects, and some people didn’t. I’d never know which one of those people I was until I tried.

If it went wrong? Stop taking them straightaway, the nurse explained.

It seemed logical so I thought yes, let’s give this a go. If I’m going to be that smoothed-skinned, fresh faced bride, sans fag, I’ve got to beat this bitch of a habit.

The happy test

Mr B had read up about cham-pigs and was a little concerned I would get sad. So he set himself a daily challenge to make me laugh. It was simple – if I didn’t laugh, I was coming off the pigs.

It was with great nerves that I took that first pill. I’m the sort of gal who only takes a painkiller if my arm is hanging off so I’m definitely not a pill popper. But I thought ‘bottoms up’ and swallowed my first cham-pig with a big glass of water (drinking lots of water helps with the nausea).

I have now been taking the pigs for 12 days and my symptoms thus far are this:

  • Mild waves of nausea about 20 minutes after taking the morning pill
  • A few days of not being able to sleep (which was solved after my nurse told me I was taking my second pill too late in the day)
  • A plethora of hugely entertaining dreams

Now I know it’s early days and that there’s still time for me to get sad, or for my dreams to turn into nightmares. But I’m feeling pretty good so far.

I’ve got a good support network in place for if it does start to go wrong – I know that if I don’t laugh at that daily joke, then it’s game over for the pigs.

But, having talked to my friends, and after reading many testimonials from pigs users on the internet (both good and bad), I have come to realise that this is a very personal thing.

The pigs affect everyone differently. And you won’t know how it’ll affect you until you try.

Champix advice from a novice

I know I’m only a few days in so feel free to take me with a pinch of salt, but this is what I’ve learned so far:

  • Drink lots of water when you take your pigs and make sure your stomach isn’t empty
  • Even if you can buy them from the internet, don’t – go see a smoking adviser. They’ll help you decide if this method is right for you. Plus the carbon monoxide test they do at the same time is hugely motivating, so is the thought of weekly visits to see them
  • Don’t forget you’re giving up smoking – so you’re liable to be a bit peed off and sad anyway. You, and your loved ones, will know if there’s anything more going on

DAY ONE: TFI Friday – oh, wait…

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When I’m told to follow instructions, I generally aim to please. So when the nurse who prescribed me the stop smoking aid Champix (or cham-pigs as my man Mr B calls them – I’m hoping it’s a clever play on words rather than a reference to the kind of person I have become since taking the pills) told me to stop smoking on day 10, I proceeded to do all but engrave the date on my face.

It’s all good and well when you haven’t even started the pills yet and have the pleasure of knowing that you get to smoke for the first nine days that you’re taking them too (woo hoo!). It’s like breaking up from school and thinking the new term is so long away that it’s perfectly feasible it may, actually, never arrive.

If you’re sensible, you probably timed your cham-pigs so that day 10 falls on a Monday, or some other such bland day. But if you’re me, you don’t realise that day one of not smoking is a Friday until it’s too late. So eager was I to see out my resolution that I rushed out to the chemist on New Year’s Day and was up bright and early on 2 January to start my new life, avec cham-pigs.

10 is the magic number

Now TECHNICALLY, you’re meant to quit between day eight and 14 but the nurse told me to stop on day 10 and I feel I must obey. What can I say? I am a product of my upbringing.

Also, I am scared of my nurse and her even scarier carbon monoxide breath thingy, both of which I have the pleasure of an appointment with on Tuesday.

Why such a fuss about Friday? Well, after five days of hard graft, Friday is MY day. I relish the sound of the cork popping joyously from the wine bottle I picked up on the way home or bought in the pub. To be fair, it’s probably a screw top in all honesty but you take my point.

First glass of wine = it’s the weekend.

Booze and fags are frenemies

One thing I do know is that booze and fags are frenemies. They are Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton. In the bright lights and buzz of a night they are the best of friends – nothing can tear them apart. But, really, are they good for each other? Hell no.

Day one was probably not the best day to tempt fate, so I opted to turn down the offer of post-work drinks and go straight home, keeping my head down as I passed the offie.

Instead, I cooked up some rather tasty beef burgers and potato wedges and curled up on the sofa to watch a film with Mr B. I can safely say it’s my first Friday without booze for, possibly, years. And you know what? It was a pretty lush evening.

Even better – apart from a couple of cravings, which were instantly met with ferocious chomping on chewing gum and some surreptitious glances at my quit smoking phone app which gives out inspirational messages, I didn’t miss the fags too much.

Things I did to distract me: drank a lot of water, did some exercise, cooked a yummy meal.

It was freezing outside and it was quite nice to curl up on the sofa without having to hang out of the living room window taking guilty puffs and then shivering on the sofa because we’ve left the window open to air the room.

I am not a quitter virgin so I know tough times lie ahead. But I am proud to say: day one? Bosh!

In the beginning…

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Hello, welcome to my blog. I have joined the ranks of millions of people who have decided to start a blog that will only ever be read by them and their proud parents (actually, scrap that, my parents won’t read this blog – I’m 31 years old and my dad still doesn’t know that I smoke(d)).

Anyway, at this tender age, I have decided that enough is enough. I must stop the madness. I must beat you fags. You are like a bad relationship – I know you need to go but, in the past, as soon as you’ve gone away, I’ve gone a bit crazy. If you had a phone, fags, I’d drunk text you.

But 2013 is the year of change, and this is why:

  • I’m getting married this year and, let’s face it, there’s nothing more unattractive than a bride with a fag hanging out of her mouth while she hides around the corner from her relatives and then stuffs the mints she stashed in her garter into her mouth to hide the fag ash Lil breath.
  • I’ve been smoking for 14 years and, let’s face it, smoking is a gamble and if I was playing a game of Blackjack and had half a brain, I’d have cashed in my chips quite some time ago.
  • The prospect of getting wed makes one think about the future and come to the realisation that life won’t always be about socialising, having fun and working hard – soon it will be about having children and building a future for them. I’d like to be around to see that please.

So if you do stumble upon my blog please feel free to drop in take a read, shake your head in disagreement or nod in agreement (except you dad – you can go away).