Today is one of those days. Maybe because we're so close to the holidays, and the holidays stir up thoughts of family, and happiness, and love. And I wonder how long I will wait for those things. Or if waiting is the wrong attitude to have. I'm sure it is; I've heard we make our own fate. But I can't help but question, what is it that I am supposed to be doing? What have I been forgetting?
Sometimes I just want to scream, I want to shout to the world. What makes me so different than everyone else? What makes life so hard? Rationally, I know I don't have it so bad. I have family, good friends, but is that enough when you know there is more, just beyond your reach. I can't rid the dreadful feeling that this is it. I can't get it out of my head that, as my life goes on, nothing will change. I know my friends would tell me I was wrong, calling the wrong universe. But the longing, the feeling of something missing, my searching for the point to all this mess - will it ever find a resolution? Or will I spend my life wandering about, floundering? It's a very lonely feeling - like sinking, suffocating. It seems everyone around me knows something I don't, they've been privy to a secret and have planned accordingly. So I dare not bring it up, no one can relate. I am sure this is something I have constructed in my warped little mind, just to drive myself more crazy.
It's disconcerting though, you spend your whole life doing what you think you're supposed to, you make responsible decisions, take few risks, and you think you are headed in one direction, and land somewhere else entirely. You realize that you wasted time focusing on the wrong things, that preconceived notions about life, and people, and success have been so far off base that nothing makes sense any more. So,you worry too much, you begin to avoid making decisions that which you cannot predict the outcome, you hide, are maybe just a little bit lazy, and hope for the best. But the best doesn't come. Life remains stagnant, dormant even. Inside you feel it, you feel a churning, an over-whelming pang. And you shove it down, in fear. You think one day you will erupt, then what would people think...
Sure, there are things you could do to change, but every action has an equal and opposite reaction, whether or not our actions will be effective is a gamble. After years of losing bets, you become conditioned to believe that the odds are never in your favor so you keep what little you have left, in your pocket. Deep down in there, in that pocket, there are things I don't want to share. Things I don't want to be told are stupid, things I don't want destroyed. So I keep them to myself - useless and wasted. For what? To protect the nothing I have to lose.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Chapter 3 Continued
I made it 3 weeks, and counting. I am happy with my progress. I love that I am not wasting money on cigarettes and I don't wake up wheezy anymore. I do feel a tad wistful when I am around others smoking, and I enjoy being around the smoke. But aside from that, I haven't really been tempted.
The problem is my avoidance tactic has been food. Well not so much food as junk. I eat a lot of chocolate at work, ice cream at home... It's dangerous. So my new small goal will be to not have any chocolate at work today. Baby steps, people. I would promise to go for a walk or ride the bike for a while, but it's a billion degrees outside, and I plan to hide in the air conditioning when I get home.
Whatever happens though the main focus is not to smoke. As Stacy says, don't waste all that hard work - the last 3 weeks for one cigarette. And I don't intend to! I hope I don't have a major crisis - thanks for the looming warning Dagmara - that pushes me back to smoking, but I think that I have other ways to deal now. Walking, painting, reading, listening to music... I will try to remember that as time goes on.
Keep crossing your fingers for me, saying that little prayer. I need all the help I can get.
The problem is my avoidance tactic has been food. Well not so much food as junk. I eat a lot of chocolate at work, ice cream at home... It's dangerous. So my new small goal will be to not have any chocolate at work today. Baby steps, people. I would promise to go for a walk or ride the bike for a while, but it's a billion degrees outside, and I plan to hide in the air conditioning when I get home.
Whatever happens though the main focus is not to smoke. As Stacy says, don't waste all that hard work - the last 3 weeks for one cigarette. And I don't intend to! I hope I don't have a major crisis - thanks for the looming warning Dagmara - that pushes me back to smoking, but I think that I have other ways to deal now. Walking, painting, reading, listening to music... I will try to remember that as time goes on.
Keep crossing your fingers for me, saying that little prayer. I need all the help I can get.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Lesson Learned - Chapter 3 - Make Small Goals
Make Small Goals.
I know it sounds cheesy but I read this book my aunt gave me called "30 Things to Do When You're Thirty" . There was a chapter in the book that talked about chasing your dreams. It said to make goals for yourself and accomplish them - even small ones. The small ones are confidence builders; they show you that you are capable. I have to agree.
I know I shouldn't be speaking so soon... (Talk to me this time next week. Hopefully my story will still be the same) And I definitely shouldn't say that quitting smoking is easy. That was my latest goal. You know what, it wasn't easy. It took me 14 years to get here. It took me 14 years to decided: enough! But that's where I past the hardest part - that decision, that realization.
On Memorial Day my grandma came over for a BBQ. My brother and Julie brought Mack Attack. We were hanging out in the sun, had a good dinner, spilled a LOT of coffee, and I went out to smoke. My grandma wanted me to take her home. She was a little hesitant to get into my tiny Fiat. My coercive argument was that it at least didn't smell like smoke. The car was new, I didn't want to stink it up just yet. My grandmother's response was "Big deal, you shouldn't be smoking anywhere." I jumped to my own defense, believing like every other smoker that actually quitting was a process, that it was something to be entered into carefully, with a plan, one step at a time. I believed that I couldn't be so hard on myself, that I would get there eventually. So I said to my grandma, "It's a step, Grandma." She's no bullshit. She said, "Jenny, your steps get you no where" Well ain't that a kick in the head?
She - as much as I hate to admit it - was right. All the "steps" I took were faulty at best. All they did was prolong the actual quitting part of quitting smoking. They allowed me to believe I was doing something without actually sacrificing, without doing the work. Maybe they work for some people, maybe the gradual steps help some people, so they don't feel like they are losing something... I have felt the exact opposite the last week or so. I feel like I gained something!
The next day I smoked the last cigarette in my pack. I was with Nicolette and I remember saying to her when I left her house that I had to stop for cigarettes on my way home or else I would be angry in the morning when I didn't have any. But I got in my car and thought, "Wait a minute. That's it. I said I was going to try quitting again. I'm not buying them. We'll just have to see how it goes." I made that ACTIVE decision. I took control of my actions, my health, my life. It was the most liberating decision I have ever made.
Later, on day one with no cigarettes, I had a minor freak out. I wanted to claw out my own eyes by the time I got home. I wanted to eat everything in sight to stop myself from putting a cigarette to my lips. I still didn't have any on me. Which was probably the best thing I did for myself. Had I bought cigarettes I know for a fact I would have caved and probably would have smoked the whole thing by last Thursday. And would be on my second pack since. But I made my decision 193 hrs and 21 minutes ago (8 days 1 hr and 21 minutes - not that I'm counting), and I haven't smoked yet. Lucky for me I am also lazy. Getting cigarettes would have required I get in the car and go get some. No thanks. I went to the garage and painted. But then the anxious energy built up, so I took a walk. I walked for an hour. It was excruciating. Time past so slow. I kept checking my clock, and this is a bit of a knock at the good ol' RG, but it took me just about 20 minutes to walk the entire length of the damn town. I had to go in circles, through the park, up and down streets, jog in place a little and stretch in the backyard just to fill the hour. I should be fair - I only went from Fullerton to Grand (instead of Belmont) and just about Harlem (which is technically Elmwood Park) to Ditka Dr (instead of Elm St.). But somehow I think only a half hour would have been necessary to accomplish a legit tour de River Grove. But I am getting sidetracked here. Which ironically is how I have lasted even this long. I would focus on ANYTHING other than smoking to avoid giving up. I bounced around from watching TV to painting, walking, yoga (limit mobility there), reading, drinking coffee ( which should have made me want to smoke, but didn't), oh and I cleaned my room, closets and all. I got so much more done in one night than I ever would have thought possible. At work I would focus on work, at lunch I play basketball. Which, I surprisingly have missed. And I surprise Ed every time I beat him in a game of horse.
Saturday night we went out for Stacy's birthday. I was contemplating skipping the alcohol because everyone says it's smart to avoid it when you're trying to quit. I couldn't not have a beer, and how could I pass on the Chocolate Sin Martini? But the girls discreetly went to the "powder room" without me, and I made it through. That made me feel like I really accomplished something - being around smokers, the girls and my brother earlier that day - and not letting my hard work collapse around me. I felt it, I felt that something else was more important. I keep reminding myself that I may miss smoking, but giving in won't satisfy me, it won't satiate the craving. IT WILL ONLY MAKE ME WANT TO SMOKE MORE. I tell myself I am gaining nothing by smoking, but by not smoking I am hopefully going to increase my chances of not getting cancer, perhaps correcting the arrhythmia, saving money, expanding my lung capacity. Don't get me wrong, I knew all of this before. I knew that no matter how well I knew all of that, it didn't matter. It didn't carry enough weight to make me quit. No smoker is blind to the drawbacks of smoking - we live in the era of "Truth" Commercials and grew up as the "Smoke Free Class of 2000" The fact is that it has to be on you, 100%. You have to just decide to do it. Decide that you want it. That nothing is more important.
And I will advocate the Cold Turkey. There is no gray area there. There is no "today was a good day" or "today I wasn't so good". There's smoking and there's not smoking. It's black (like your lungs if you keep smoking) and white ( like my teeth will be now that I'm not going to cover them with tar).
Now I can't claim to be some rock star awesome motivational miracle story. There are days like today where my chest feels tight and I feel the burden of stress on my shoulders. And I think, "MAN! I would so be smoking hard right now, if I still did that sort of thing" And there are days when I want to bargain with myself. I will tell myself that once I have quit long enough I can smoke once in a while, if I am really drunk. Or I can smoke when I am old ( like Gabby says). And sometimes that stuff is just to help me get through the moment. It helps me think I am not giving something up entirely, I can have it back when I choose.
And right now I am CHOOSING not to have it in my life. I feel a strange sense of power from saying that. I feel like I can do anything I set my mind to. I haven't failed yet, right? No, I do kinda rock. And I think how happy my mom is, every time I tell her, "I didn't smoke today". Can you imagine my grandma? She's going to say something like "Good for you - IT'S ABOUT TIME. NOW DON'T START AGAIN" And my aunt is going to say, "Good, Dr. Griffin will be happy, make sure you tell him." And I feel like I have taken something back there too. I can start to repair damage I did by smoking - I hope - and don't have to be to blame for my heart - should it ail me. I don't have to face the dirty looks, feel the guilt of my in-gratefulness, the judgment. I know, I know, what the fuck was I dong smoking to begin with? Please, I have heard it all.
And I don't aim to hear it ever again. I am looking at my vision board - "Quit Smoking" spelled out on it - hmm maybe they do work. And I see happiness there too. I think that makes two checks. Now wish me continued strength and good luck. I'm sure I will need both.
I know it sounds cheesy but I read this book my aunt gave me called "30 Things to Do When You're Thirty" . There was a chapter in the book that talked about chasing your dreams. It said to make goals for yourself and accomplish them - even small ones. The small ones are confidence builders; they show you that you are capable. I have to agree.
I know I shouldn't be speaking so soon... (Talk to me this time next week. Hopefully my story will still be the same) And I definitely shouldn't say that quitting smoking is easy. That was my latest goal. You know what, it wasn't easy. It took me 14 years to get here. It took me 14 years to decided: enough! But that's where I past the hardest part - that decision, that realization.
On Memorial Day my grandma came over for a BBQ. My brother and Julie brought Mack Attack. We were hanging out in the sun, had a good dinner, spilled a LOT of coffee, and I went out to smoke. My grandma wanted me to take her home. She was a little hesitant to get into my tiny Fiat. My coercive argument was that it at least didn't smell like smoke. The car was new, I didn't want to stink it up just yet. My grandmother's response was "Big deal, you shouldn't be smoking anywhere." I jumped to my own defense, believing like every other smoker that actually quitting was a process, that it was something to be entered into carefully, with a plan, one step at a time. I believed that I couldn't be so hard on myself, that I would get there eventually. So I said to my grandma, "It's a step, Grandma." She's no bullshit. She said, "Jenny, your steps get you no where" Well ain't that a kick in the head?
She - as much as I hate to admit it - was right. All the "steps" I took were faulty at best. All they did was prolong the actual quitting part of quitting smoking. They allowed me to believe I was doing something without actually sacrificing, without doing the work. Maybe they work for some people, maybe the gradual steps help some people, so they don't feel like they are losing something... I have felt the exact opposite the last week or so. I feel like I gained something!
The next day I smoked the last cigarette in my pack. I was with Nicolette and I remember saying to her when I left her house that I had to stop for cigarettes on my way home or else I would be angry in the morning when I didn't have any. But I got in my car and thought, "Wait a minute. That's it. I said I was going to try quitting again. I'm not buying them. We'll just have to see how it goes." I made that ACTIVE decision. I took control of my actions, my health, my life. It was the most liberating decision I have ever made.
Later, on day one with no cigarettes, I had a minor freak out. I wanted to claw out my own eyes by the time I got home. I wanted to eat everything in sight to stop myself from putting a cigarette to my lips. I still didn't have any on me. Which was probably the best thing I did for myself. Had I bought cigarettes I know for a fact I would have caved and probably would have smoked the whole thing by last Thursday. And would be on my second pack since. But I made my decision 193 hrs and 21 minutes ago (8 days 1 hr and 21 minutes - not that I'm counting), and I haven't smoked yet. Lucky for me I am also lazy. Getting cigarettes would have required I get in the car and go get some. No thanks. I went to the garage and painted. But then the anxious energy built up, so I took a walk. I walked for an hour. It was excruciating. Time past so slow. I kept checking my clock, and this is a bit of a knock at the good ol' RG, but it took me just about 20 minutes to walk the entire length of the damn town. I had to go in circles, through the park, up and down streets, jog in place a little and stretch in the backyard just to fill the hour. I should be fair - I only went from Fullerton to Grand (instead of Belmont) and just about Harlem (which is technically Elmwood Park) to Ditka Dr (instead of Elm St.). But somehow I think only a half hour would have been necessary to accomplish a legit tour de River Grove. But I am getting sidetracked here. Which ironically is how I have lasted even this long. I would focus on ANYTHING other than smoking to avoid giving up. I bounced around from watching TV to painting, walking, yoga (limit mobility there), reading, drinking coffee ( which should have made me want to smoke, but didn't), oh and I cleaned my room, closets and all. I got so much more done in one night than I ever would have thought possible. At work I would focus on work, at lunch I play basketball. Which, I surprisingly have missed. And I surprise Ed every time I beat him in a game of horse.
Saturday night we went out for Stacy's birthday. I was contemplating skipping the alcohol because everyone says it's smart to avoid it when you're trying to quit. I couldn't not have a beer, and how could I pass on the Chocolate Sin Martini? But the girls discreetly went to the "powder room" without me, and I made it through. That made me feel like I really accomplished something - being around smokers, the girls and my brother earlier that day - and not letting my hard work collapse around me. I felt it, I felt that something else was more important. I keep reminding myself that I may miss smoking, but giving in won't satisfy me, it won't satiate the craving. IT WILL ONLY MAKE ME WANT TO SMOKE MORE. I tell myself I am gaining nothing by smoking, but by not smoking I am hopefully going to increase my chances of not getting cancer, perhaps correcting the arrhythmia, saving money, expanding my lung capacity. Don't get me wrong, I knew all of this before. I knew that no matter how well I knew all of that, it didn't matter. It didn't carry enough weight to make me quit. No smoker is blind to the drawbacks of smoking - we live in the era of "Truth" Commercials and grew up as the "Smoke Free Class of 2000" The fact is that it has to be on you, 100%. You have to just decide to do it. Decide that you want it. That nothing is more important.
And I will advocate the Cold Turkey. There is no gray area there. There is no "today was a good day" or "today I wasn't so good". There's smoking and there's not smoking. It's black (like your lungs if you keep smoking) and white ( like my teeth will be now that I'm not going to cover them with tar).
Now I can't claim to be some rock star awesome motivational miracle story. There are days like today where my chest feels tight and I feel the burden of stress on my shoulders. And I think, "MAN! I would so be smoking hard right now, if I still did that sort of thing" And there are days when I want to bargain with myself. I will tell myself that once I have quit long enough I can smoke once in a while, if I am really drunk. Or I can smoke when I am old ( like Gabby says). And sometimes that stuff is just to help me get through the moment. It helps me think I am not giving something up entirely, I can have it back when I choose.
And right now I am CHOOSING not to have it in my life. I feel a strange sense of power from saying that. I feel like I can do anything I set my mind to. I haven't failed yet, right? No, I do kinda rock. And I think how happy my mom is, every time I tell her, "I didn't smoke today". Can you imagine my grandma? She's going to say something like "Good for you - IT'S ABOUT TIME. NOW DON'T START AGAIN" And my aunt is going to say, "Good, Dr. Griffin will be happy, make sure you tell him." And I feel like I have taken something back there too. I can start to repair damage I did by smoking - I hope - and don't have to be to blame for my heart - should it ail me. I don't have to face the dirty looks, feel the guilt of my in-gratefulness, the judgment. I know, I know, what the fuck was I dong smoking to begin with? Please, I have heard it all.
And I don't aim to hear it ever again. I am looking at my vision board - "Quit Smoking" spelled out on it - hmm maybe they do work. And I see happiness there too. I think that makes two checks. Now wish me continued strength and good luck. I'm sure I will need both.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Chapter 2 Continued Yet Again
It is so frustrating. I seem to have lost my will power. After one weekend, alcohol involved, I seem to have gone back a step. I went from cutting down to 5 a day, down to 4, down to 3. Then Friday night came, wine applied to the system and I had about 9 cigarettes. Gross. Saturday was no better. I was again able to keep to only a couple during the day but going out that night got the best of me. Again, smoking half a pack.
I considered the weekend a wash and started again on Monday, from the beginning. Down to 5 cigarettes. And here on Thursday, one day before my alleged quit date and I am still on 5 cigarettes a day. So far I have only had 2, and I have not smoked in my car since I think Monday, but I am sure the number will hit 5 before I go to bed.
I am starting to think 2 things. One being a small issue, I have no will power and give up easily. This is evident also in my weight loss ambitions, which have ceased to exist, growing cobwebs on my weight watchers account. And secondly, a possible solution: play hermit until I am over the worst of it. Strictly go from home to work, work to home and no where in between. Unless I have to stop for gas. No eating at restaurants. No going out for a quick drink, no going to homes of smokers, especially if there is smoking in the house. I'd say for at least 2 weeks. And with all the home time I will be wracking up in the mean time, I can use it productively, working on one of my many weakly attempted hobbies...
I'll keep you posted on how well that goes.
I considered the weekend a wash and started again on Monday, from the beginning. Down to 5 cigarettes. And here on Thursday, one day before my alleged quit date and I am still on 5 cigarettes a day. So far I have only had 2, and I have not smoked in my car since I think Monday, but I am sure the number will hit 5 before I go to bed.
I am starting to think 2 things. One being a small issue, I have no will power and give up easily. This is evident also in my weight loss ambitions, which have ceased to exist, growing cobwebs on my weight watchers account. And secondly, a possible solution: play hermit until I am over the worst of it. Strictly go from home to work, work to home and no where in between. Unless I have to stop for gas. No eating at restaurants. No going out for a quick drink, no going to homes of smokers, especially if there is smoking in the house. I'd say for at least 2 weeks. And with all the home time I will be wracking up in the mean time, I can use it productively, working on one of my many weakly attempted hobbies...
I'll keep you posted on how well that goes.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Chapter 2 Continued
Today is March 1st. I have 8 days until my end smoke date. This morning I did something I've never done. I went all the way to work without smoking. I'm sure for many of you that doesn't seem like a tricky task. I mean you simply don't smoke, right?
But I don't think that there has been a day in the last 10 years that I went to work or school without smoking, buying a pack on the way and smoking as soon as I got there, or maybe having two because I was stuck in traffic. So this morning was a big accomplishment for me. And it's now 10 am and I still haven't had a cigarette. It's been just over 12 hrs since my last one. I am a bit antsy I guess you could say, but I think I expected it to be worse. Right now I am somewhat occupied at work, but at times my focus gets lost, consumed in a craving.
From the outside you wouldn't know the difference. It's like walking down the street, I know I appear to be perfectly normal, composed, but inside it feels like I am burning alive, like if I could crawl out of my skin, I would. I know why I failed so many times before. I couldn't fight that urge. I wanted to just make it go away. "Just one more, just one more", I would say, "and I won't smoke anymore today." But I remember how that went. One more turned into two, the next day I'd have 3. And before I knew it I was back to smoking a half a pack a day sometimes more.
I am happy to say that yesterday I went down a notch. I was smoking probably half a pack a day. Then I cut back to maybe 7 cigarettes, give or take. I wasn't keeping a running tally, I would just judge by how frequently I would have to buy a new pack, and whether or not I shared with anyone. Then when I started on the idea of quitting, I worked my way down to 5 cigarettes a day, specifically scheduled (which according to the plan is probably a bad strategy). I held at 5 cigarettes a day for a few days, but I tried to infuse the "Become an Ex" theology. Rather than smoking at specific times, I began to work on the process of separation. Like not smoking immediately after getting in the car, or drinking a cup of coffee, or following a meal.
Today makes day 4 of "separation" and last night I went down to only 4 cigarettes a day. They went a little like this: one on the way to work, one halfway in the car to dinner, one half way to Jets for trivia, and one halfway through Trivia. I jammed like a lunatic to the radio and ate 2 cough drops to avoid smoking on the the way home. So it seems the car is my down fall. If only I rode my bike everywhere... But still, it's progress.
And today, so far so good. I am currently warring in my head over when I get to have another one. I have separated the smoking from my morning routine of getting to work so I am due for one. I would like to hold out as long as possible though. And I don't want to run into lunch, because with lunch I face another trigger. I have to separate the smoking from eating as well. So the debate in my head right now is going something like this:
But I don't think that there has been a day in the last 10 years that I went to work or school without smoking, buying a pack on the way and smoking as soon as I got there, or maybe having two because I was stuck in traffic. So this morning was a big accomplishment for me. And it's now 10 am and I still haven't had a cigarette. It's been just over 12 hrs since my last one. I am a bit antsy I guess you could say, but I think I expected it to be worse. Right now I am somewhat occupied at work, but at times my focus gets lost, consumed in a craving.
From the outside you wouldn't know the difference. It's like walking down the street, I know I appear to be perfectly normal, composed, but inside it feels like I am burning alive, like if I could crawl out of my skin, I would. I know why I failed so many times before. I couldn't fight that urge. I wanted to just make it go away. "Just one more, just one more", I would say, "and I won't smoke anymore today." But I remember how that went. One more turned into two, the next day I'd have 3. And before I knew it I was back to smoking a half a pack a day sometimes more.
I am happy to say that yesterday I went down a notch. I was smoking probably half a pack a day. Then I cut back to maybe 7 cigarettes, give or take. I wasn't keeping a running tally, I would just judge by how frequently I would have to buy a new pack, and whether or not I shared with anyone. Then when I started on the idea of quitting, I worked my way down to 5 cigarettes a day, specifically scheduled (which according to the plan is probably a bad strategy). I held at 5 cigarettes a day for a few days, but I tried to infuse the "Become an Ex" theology. Rather than smoking at specific times, I began to work on the process of separation. Like not smoking immediately after getting in the car, or drinking a cup of coffee, or following a meal.
Today makes day 4 of "separation" and last night I went down to only 4 cigarettes a day. They went a little like this: one on the way to work, one halfway in the car to dinner, one half way to Jets for trivia, and one halfway through Trivia. I jammed like a lunatic to the radio and ate 2 cough drops to avoid smoking on the the way home. So it seems the car is my down fall. If only I rode my bike everywhere... But still, it's progress.
And today, so far so good. I am currently warring in my head over when I get to have another one. I have separated the smoking from my morning routine of getting to work so I am due for one. I would like to hold out as long as possible though. And I don't want to run into lunch, because with lunch I face another trigger. I have to separate the smoking from eating as well. So the debate in my head right now is going something like this:
Good job, no smoking yet today
ok, when can I have one?
Maybe at lunch, no I have to space out food and smoking
ok, how about now? - No! Fight the urge! Hold out as long as you can!
After Lunch then, mid-afternoon - No! I told people at work I want to not smoke at work.
I'll look like a liar, a failure
So... who cares, I need that cigarette.
No you don't, calm down.
Oh shut up you goody two-shoes
Ugh, I can't imagine not smoking this summer... on the way to Kentucky..
Hey idiot, how about you take this one step at a time.
Shut up!
And that's where I'm at right now. I think the nicotine craving part of my brain is about to win. I am rationalizing that it's part of the program, to allow yourself the cigarettes but separated from triggers, until that quit date. Maybe I misunderstood something, but I would still like to minimize the smoking, so holding out as long as possible seems like the best idea. Otherwise, I am going to get to that quit date and not be able to quit. And that would suck. Clearly. Wish me Luck.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
The Coldest Feet
We have a funny, cute, little tradition in our family. Every year, for the Academy Awards my mom makes rice crispy treats in the shape of Oscars. They are somewhat primitive looking, but each year they get a little better, and we get the gist. Often times their heads are sagging, they look unnaturally gold - though my mom doesn't admit to coloring them - and invariably there is one ginormous Oscar. Who, you ask, gets that one? Well none other than the golden boy himself - Jay.
My mom is so funny, first she denies that Jay is the favorite - Jess and I know better - but she also wraps up the Oscars for whomever can't make it to the awards. We look forward to it every year. And the best part, in order to get your tasty prize you must give an acceptance speech. Generally it's better if the room collaborates on who get which award - most glittery shoes, best animal lover - sometimes we make up our own just to get on with eating the treat without waiting for everyone to agree on the trophy's symbol. Mom usually goes a little more traditional with her award - best cook, most creative baker ( hence the Oscar treats). Everyone else usually goes for funny.
Earlier in the evening my mom and grandma were sharing war stories about getting me to put on socks - like it's a national crisis or and I'm not 30 years old- so later when the treats came out Jess dubbed mine as the Oscar for the Coldest Feet. My acceptance speech went something like this:
My mom is so funny, first she denies that Jay is the favorite - Jess and I know better - but she also wraps up the Oscars for whomever can't make it to the awards. We look forward to it every year. And the best part, in order to get your tasty prize you must give an acceptance speech. Generally it's better if the room collaborates on who get which award - most glittery shoes, best animal lover - sometimes we make up our own just to get on with eating the treat without waiting for everyone to agree on the trophy's symbol. Mom usually goes a little more traditional with her award - best cook, most creative baker ( hence the Oscar treats). Everyone else usually goes for funny.
Earlier in the evening my mom and grandma were sharing war stories about getting me to put on socks - like it's a national crisis or and I'm not 30 years old- so later when the treats came out Jess dubbed mine as the Oscar for the Coldest Feet. My acceptance speech went something like this:
I would like to thank the academy, and my grandmother, and mother for constantly telling me to put on socks, you provided me with something to rebel against. Your constant nagging has made me never want to wear socks, out of spite, and helped me have this year's coldest feet.
Well, at least I thought it was funny... Anyway, it's one of those silly little things that most people would say is nerdy or juvenile, but we like it and have fun with it. And I think, even though I am also the worst in the kitchen, I will continue this with my own family some day.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Lessons Learned - Chapter 2
I normally would not write about this sort of thing. My sister has said "You're fine", enough times that I have come to accept that aside from my mom, I'm really the only who wants to hear it. My sister is not wrong.
But she, as well as I, takes for granted that everyone has heard enough. I've grown accustomed to meeting people and assuming they can guess enough of the story from on the scars, assume they aren't interested in details, and assume sharing them comes off as self important. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm being overly critical of myself. Maybe I sound like an egotistical ass.
Today, however, it's where this story starts, because, late in the game, things can shift. And it never ceases to amaze me what the process of "growing up" can do to your perspective.There comes a point in time when you realize that your decisions actually have consequences.
My doctor tells me every time I see him that I'll be getting a medal. It's our little joke. Apparently, I hold some sort of record, unofficially of course, amongst people who've had the same procedure. The record for "Longest Lasting Conduit". Typically, people may not think this is any great feat. But considering my original conduit lasted 16 years as opposed to the average 10 years, it's not too shabby. But most recently, at my last visit, Dr. Griffin went on to say he had been talking about me at a conference the previous day. ( I wonder sometimes, it would be pretty cool if my name is in a medical journal somewhere.) He said to me, "Remind me how long the newest conduit has been in." I told him 12 years. He said, "Really, that medal should be arriving any day now...Yesterday I was talking to some colleagues, some of their patients have needed replacements within 4 months of implantation." My eyes bugged out a little. I couldn't imagine having to go through that in multiple, within only a few months time. "You're very lucky," he said, "you haven't had any of the hiccups or side effects...So check your mail for that medal" I can't help but laugh at his goofy demeanor.
This conversation took place before the exam, which, to my dismay, was observed by a med student - I hate that. I'm all for learning, don't get me wrong, but you ever want to feel like a guinea pig, going to a teaching hospital will satisfy that craving. We did the whole rigmarole, deep breath, listen, exhale slowly, listen, repeat. The conduit would live to see another day, it sounded great. The native artery had a leak.
Doc was never one to be an alarmist. He always spoke calmly, casually, even years ago when he told me he wanted me to have surgery. He was not cold, but rational, confident, no big deal. So this time I wasn't sure where the news fell within the parameters of severity. He said this can occur naturally, normally, and any future work I needed done would be no sweat. But that was what he said about the transesophageal echo 12 years ago, where, and this will forever be etched in my memory, I had to gargle what tasted like Raid as the aerosol burned it's way down my throat before swallowing a camera semi-conscious. - yet again my sister's voice chimes in, "I'm fine"- But the point being, I wouldn't be surprised if Dr. Griffin was again downplaying unpleasantries for my benefit .
When I think about it though, the man is no fool. I mean his strategy seemed to work. He is almost 70 and he has been doing this for sometime, so I imagine he's picked up a trick or two. Speak comforting words, people feel comforted. Speak words of anger, people respond with anger. Speak confidently, even amidst uncertainty, people will feel at ease. I was concerned, sure, it had been 4 years since I dragged myself to see him, I knew the unhealthy aspects of my lifestyle. But I wasn't so much scared as intrigued. I guess I figured it was only a matter of time before there was a blip. I almost felt it coming on. And in all morbid honesty, this was my thing, the thing that made me even remotely interesting.
I did however have one specific reservation about the whole thing. And that was in telling my parents there was even a glimmer of an issue. Being a patient can suck, don't get me wrong, but it's not without its perks. It's far worse to be the parent. I may not be a parent, but I saw enough of the pain and sacrifice my own made for me. I would take a needle in my arm any day to having to sit in their place and watch it happen. Nothing was going to make me tell them more than I had to. I lied to my mother for the first time ever when reporting back on a doctor visit.
"What the doctor say, Jen?"
"Oh conduit's fine, says I'm ganna get a medal"
laughs "Good, good. Did you do an echo"
"No, he's ganna have me come back for a stress test, says it's been a long time"
"Ok, so all good?"
"Yup, all good"
But being the natural born big mouth that I am, I blabbed to my sister and the jig was up. She said any more info I received I'd have to share with our parents. I agreed conditionally, we were operating on a need to know basis. No need to work them up.
I would go back in two weeks for a stress echo. After that I would know more, whether the leak was major or benign, and what the next step would be. My mom offered to come, but I shot her down, not necessary.
So I went alone. It felt right, empowering almost, to take this step, consciously, intentionally by myself. Like an adult. I was making an active decision for once, perhaps in retrospect it was the wrong one, but mine nonetheless.
The waiting took longer than the tests; that's what happens when you show up an hour early. And before I knew it I was cleaning jelly from everywhere, pulling my sweat shirt back on. And this is where the going-it-alone thing backfires. I don't listen. I assume things. I make incorrect inferences and "intuitive leaps", scrambling facts. This is not specific to doctor appointments, this is my behavior in daily social interaction and in reflecting on that, I see that I am my biggest cause for confusion and misunderstanding.
After probably 10 minutes into the echo the tech said the leak was minor. That part I got. He explained that it was the pulmonary artery that had been patched in, which was always a point of misconception on my part. And why is that? Because I'd stop listening. Overwhelmed by facts. So during round two, the stress echo, I lasted maybe 6 minutes on the treadmill, I retained even less information. They told me that I'd have to move as fast as I could when the test ended to get back on the table for the second echo. I warned them that there is one thing I don't do, and that's move fast (seriously inanimate objects move faster than me). But it all worked out.
As I walked, I started holding the rail, the faster and higher the incline the more I felt the need to grab for it. The tech reminded me the more I held on, the less work I was doing, and the longer I'd have to walk. I tried to stay conscious of that as I went. I noticed the chart printing, the doctor and tech talking, the knowing exchanges.I focused only on keeping myself going, not wanting to look like a wimp. When they decided to stop me I moved as fast as I could back to the table, with some help from pushy tech hands, and finished the echo with my heart rate flying.
Dr Griffin started saying something about my heart beat switching something, and compared something to spark plugs in a car. Over all I had no flipping idea what he was talking about. And when he came back in the room after I was dressed and tried to break it down, I could really only half listen. My mind was going a mile a minute, I got hung up somewhere at the words "event recorder"... I don't know. And only really walked away knowing surgery wasn't going to be happening any time soon - sweet - that he was thinking about putting me on medication, and he was going to call me next week after he reviewed the results further.
At that point I caved and called my mom. I told her what I could remember, sans the leak - that was news was obsolete anyhow. I added that she probably should come to these visits from now on because I couldn't explain a damn thing the doctor said. But that everything was basically good. She took it well, talking to me like the child I am, warning me to ask a million questions when he called, if that was what it took for me to understand what he was saying. Otherwise she was going to sic my aunt, the nurse, on me.Nobody wants that...
The week went by and I didn't hear from the good doc, so I called him the following Monday.When he called me later that day I sat with my pen ready, with Lauren watching the phones for me at work.
Dr. Griffin explained that they stopped me on the treadmill because they noticed an arrhythmia. He said it was atricular, rather than ventricular - meaning the arrhythmia occurs in the atrium of the heart not the ventricles. He said that he didn't want to put me on medication yet. In 6 months I was to come back, and he'd reevaluate the situation, unless of course I was to continue to get dizzy spells or notice the extra beats of the arrhythmia. He went on to joke like his normal self, that all we ask is that we get 70 more years or so out of this conduit. I was laughing when I hung up. I understood the message this time, but was unsure what the wait was for. I didn't want to worry that I would constantly be out of breath with minimal effort. I don't exactly know what extra beating feels like... Doc also didn't give me any restrictions. He didn't reprimand me, he didn't offer an explanation of "over extending" myself or tips on how to lose the extra weight. Nada. By now he figured I knew the drill.
But I did some research anyway. Caffeine, exercise, nicotine are just a few of the things that can contribute to arrhythmia. Well, you can forget the idea of giving up coffee. And lord knows I don't exercise. So the smoking had to go. I mean that was a given, it never should have been happening in the first place. In fact, I wouldn't be surprise if it was the sole cause of the situation. Although my doctor didn't say so.But now I had a mission.
I decided to take it slow, that I needed a plan. For a while I thought I could just "try" and that eventually I would just get over the need to smoke. I realized quickly that I would need something a little more concrete than that. My initial reflex to keep it under wraps, I learned too, was actually a hindrance to the process. At first I just thought I wouldn't want to look like a failure, if my attempts to quit didn't last. But then I found a website called "Become an Ex". Support plays a big part.
So far I like the site. It allows you to take things slow. It teaches you about smoking triggers and addiction, and teaches you how to take steps to overcome the triggers, to "relearn' everyday activities without smoking.
The first step is to pick an end smoke day. The site recommends a date about a month out for two reasons: one so you have time to prepare- learn their strategies and tell your friends/family, and 2, no longer so as to not lose the motivation. I set mine as March 9th.
The next step is tracking your cigarettes. For three days they want you to record every cigarette you have, the time of day, what you were doing , how strong the urge was, and any thoughts you have on the "event". After 3 days you begin the process of "separation". Each time you come to a smoking trigger, for instance having a cup of coffee, you delay the cigarette by 5 minutes. If you normally smoke during the cup of coffee maybe you wait until you have finished the cup until smoking. After a couple of days like this they say to continue to stretch the separation. The idea is that eventually, the "trigger" will no longer be a trigger to smoke, it will simply be a cup of coffee again.
The site gives you tips on distracting yourself through the "separation" period, talks about support - how to maximize it's benefits, things to avoid - people to avoid, as well as an online community of support. The advice doesn't end with your last cigarette either. "Become an Ex" has resources to help you stay quit, to avoid the side effects that may go along with quitting - withdrawal, weight gain, stress.
So I'm going with it. I think this is something that can actually work. Today I officially start separation. So far so good. I delayed the smoking in the car this morning and so far haven't had my "mid-morning boredom" cigarette. I will have to try to delay the after lunch cigarette as well... But I guess the point of this blog has become making the attempt public. Now I have to be accountable. Now I have purpose.
So to any of you that are willing and able, I can use all the support I can get - not scolding just support - thank goodness my grandmother doesn't know how to use a computer... It's going to be a bumpy road and I may slip, but I want it now, it's time. Life is too short, I've seen that, no need to make it any shorter.
Lesson: Smoking is not worth it.
Did I Learn It: God, I hope so
But she, as well as I, takes for granted that everyone has heard enough. I've grown accustomed to meeting people and assuming they can guess enough of the story from on the scars, assume they aren't interested in details, and assume sharing them comes off as self important. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm being overly critical of myself. Maybe I sound like an egotistical ass.
Today, however, it's where this story starts, because, late in the game, things can shift. And it never ceases to amaze me what the process of "growing up" can do to your perspective.There comes a point in time when you realize that your decisions actually have consequences.
My doctor tells me every time I see him that I'll be getting a medal. It's our little joke. Apparently, I hold some sort of record, unofficially of course, amongst people who've had the same procedure. The record for "Longest Lasting Conduit". Typically, people may not think this is any great feat. But considering my original conduit lasted 16 years as opposed to the average 10 years, it's not too shabby. But most recently, at my last visit, Dr. Griffin went on to say he had been talking about me at a conference the previous day. ( I wonder sometimes, it would be pretty cool if my name is in a medical journal somewhere.) He said to me, "Remind me how long the newest conduit has been in." I told him 12 years. He said, "Really, that medal should be arriving any day now...Yesterday I was talking to some colleagues, some of their patients have needed replacements within 4 months of implantation." My eyes bugged out a little. I couldn't imagine having to go through that in multiple, within only a few months time. "You're very lucky," he said, "you haven't had any of the hiccups or side effects...So check your mail for that medal" I can't help but laugh at his goofy demeanor.
This conversation took place before the exam, which, to my dismay, was observed by a med student - I hate that. I'm all for learning, don't get me wrong, but you ever want to feel like a guinea pig, going to a teaching hospital will satisfy that craving. We did the whole rigmarole, deep breath, listen, exhale slowly, listen, repeat. The conduit would live to see another day, it sounded great. The native artery had a leak.
Doc was never one to be an alarmist. He always spoke calmly, casually, even years ago when he told me he wanted me to have surgery. He was not cold, but rational, confident, no big deal. So this time I wasn't sure where the news fell within the parameters of severity. He said this can occur naturally, normally, and any future work I needed done would be no sweat. But that was what he said about the transesophageal echo 12 years ago, where, and this will forever be etched in my memory, I had to gargle what tasted like Raid as the aerosol burned it's way down my throat before swallowing a camera semi-conscious. - yet again my sister's voice chimes in, "I'm fine"- But the point being, I wouldn't be surprised if Dr. Griffin was again downplaying unpleasantries for my benefit .
When I think about it though, the man is no fool. I mean his strategy seemed to work. He is almost 70 and he has been doing this for sometime, so I imagine he's picked up a trick or two. Speak comforting words, people feel comforted. Speak words of anger, people respond with anger. Speak confidently, even amidst uncertainty, people will feel at ease. I was concerned, sure, it had been 4 years since I dragged myself to see him, I knew the unhealthy aspects of my lifestyle. But I wasn't so much scared as intrigued. I guess I figured it was only a matter of time before there was a blip. I almost felt it coming on. And in all morbid honesty, this was my thing, the thing that made me even remotely interesting.
I did however have one specific reservation about the whole thing. And that was in telling my parents there was even a glimmer of an issue. Being a patient can suck, don't get me wrong, but it's not without its perks. It's far worse to be the parent. I may not be a parent, but I saw enough of the pain and sacrifice my own made for me. I would take a needle in my arm any day to having to sit in their place and watch it happen. Nothing was going to make me tell them more than I had to. I lied to my mother for the first time ever when reporting back on a doctor visit.
"What the doctor say, Jen?"
"Oh conduit's fine, says I'm ganna get a medal"
laughs "Good, good. Did you do an echo"
"No, he's ganna have me come back for a stress test, says it's been a long time"
"Ok, so all good?"
"Yup, all good"
But being the natural born big mouth that I am, I blabbed to my sister and the jig was up. She said any more info I received I'd have to share with our parents. I agreed conditionally, we were operating on a need to know basis. No need to work them up.
I would go back in two weeks for a stress echo. After that I would know more, whether the leak was major or benign, and what the next step would be. My mom offered to come, but I shot her down, not necessary.
So I went alone. It felt right, empowering almost, to take this step, consciously, intentionally by myself. Like an adult. I was making an active decision for once, perhaps in retrospect it was the wrong one, but mine nonetheless.
The waiting took longer than the tests; that's what happens when you show up an hour early. And before I knew it I was cleaning jelly from everywhere, pulling my sweat shirt back on. And this is where the going-it-alone thing backfires. I don't listen. I assume things. I make incorrect inferences and "intuitive leaps", scrambling facts. This is not specific to doctor appointments, this is my behavior in daily social interaction and in reflecting on that, I see that I am my biggest cause for confusion and misunderstanding.
After probably 10 minutes into the echo the tech said the leak was minor. That part I got. He explained that it was the pulmonary artery that had been patched in, which was always a point of misconception on my part. And why is that? Because I'd stop listening. Overwhelmed by facts. So during round two, the stress echo, I lasted maybe 6 minutes on the treadmill, I retained even less information. They told me that I'd have to move as fast as I could when the test ended to get back on the table for the second echo. I warned them that there is one thing I don't do, and that's move fast (seriously inanimate objects move faster than me). But it all worked out.
As I walked, I started holding the rail, the faster and higher the incline the more I felt the need to grab for it. The tech reminded me the more I held on, the less work I was doing, and the longer I'd have to walk. I tried to stay conscious of that as I went. I noticed the chart printing, the doctor and tech talking, the knowing exchanges.I focused only on keeping myself going, not wanting to look like a wimp. When they decided to stop me I moved as fast as I could back to the table, with some help from pushy tech hands, and finished the echo with my heart rate flying.
Dr Griffin started saying something about my heart beat switching something, and compared something to spark plugs in a car. Over all I had no flipping idea what he was talking about. And when he came back in the room after I was dressed and tried to break it down, I could really only half listen. My mind was going a mile a minute, I got hung up somewhere at the words "event recorder"... I don't know. And only really walked away knowing surgery wasn't going to be happening any time soon - sweet - that he was thinking about putting me on medication, and he was going to call me next week after he reviewed the results further.
At that point I caved and called my mom. I told her what I could remember, sans the leak - that was news was obsolete anyhow. I added that she probably should come to these visits from now on because I couldn't explain a damn thing the doctor said. But that everything was basically good. She took it well, talking to me like the child I am, warning me to ask a million questions when he called, if that was what it took for me to understand what he was saying. Otherwise she was going to sic my aunt, the nurse, on me.Nobody wants that...
The week went by and I didn't hear from the good doc, so I called him the following Monday.When he called me later that day I sat with my pen ready, with Lauren watching the phones for me at work.
Dr. Griffin explained that they stopped me on the treadmill because they noticed an arrhythmia. He said it was atricular, rather than ventricular - meaning the arrhythmia occurs in the atrium of the heart not the ventricles. He said that he didn't want to put me on medication yet. In 6 months I was to come back, and he'd reevaluate the situation, unless of course I was to continue to get dizzy spells or notice the extra beats of the arrhythmia. He went on to joke like his normal self, that all we ask is that we get 70 more years or so out of this conduit. I was laughing when I hung up. I understood the message this time, but was unsure what the wait was for. I didn't want to worry that I would constantly be out of breath with minimal effort. I don't exactly know what extra beating feels like... Doc also didn't give me any restrictions. He didn't reprimand me, he didn't offer an explanation of "over extending" myself or tips on how to lose the extra weight. Nada. By now he figured I knew the drill.
But I did some research anyway. Caffeine, exercise, nicotine are just a few of the things that can contribute to arrhythmia. Well, you can forget the idea of giving up coffee. And lord knows I don't exercise. So the smoking had to go. I mean that was a given, it never should have been happening in the first place. In fact, I wouldn't be surprise if it was the sole cause of the situation. Although my doctor didn't say so.But now I had a mission.
I decided to take it slow, that I needed a plan. For a while I thought I could just "try" and that eventually I would just get over the need to smoke. I realized quickly that I would need something a little more concrete than that. My initial reflex to keep it under wraps, I learned too, was actually a hindrance to the process. At first I just thought I wouldn't want to look like a failure, if my attempts to quit didn't last. But then I found a website called "Become an Ex". Support plays a big part.
So far I like the site. It allows you to take things slow. It teaches you about smoking triggers and addiction, and teaches you how to take steps to overcome the triggers, to "relearn' everyday activities without smoking.
The first step is to pick an end smoke day. The site recommends a date about a month out for two reasons: one so you have time to prepare- learn their strategies and tell your friends/family, and 2, no longer so as to not lose the motivation. I set mine as March 9th.
The next step is tracking your cigarettes. For three days they want you to record every cigarette you have, the time of day, what you were doing , how strong the urge was, and any thoughts you have on the "event". After 3 days you begin the process of "separation". Each time you come to a smoking trigger, for instance having a cup of coffee, you delay the cigarette by 5 minutes. If you normally smoke during the cup of coffee maybe you wait until you have finished the cup until smoking. After a couple of days like this they say to continue to stretch the separation. The idea is that eventually, the "trigger" will no longer be a trigger to smoke, it will simply be a cup of coffee again.
The site gives you tips on distracting yourself through the "separation" period, talks about support - how to maximize it's benefits, things to avoid - people to avoid, as well as an online community of support. The advice doesn't end with your last cigarette either. "Become an Ex" has resources to help you stay quit, to avoid the side effects that may go along with quitting - withdrawal, weight gain, stress.
So I'm going with it. I think this is something that can actually work. Today I officially start separation. So far so good. I delayed the smoking in the car this morning and so far haven't had my "mid-morning boredom" cigarette. I will have to try to delay the after lunch cigarette as well... But I guess the point of this blog has become making the attempt public. Now I have to be accountable. Now I have purpose.
So to any of you that are willing and able, I can use all the support I can get - not scolding just support - thank goodness my grandmother doesn't know how to use a computer... It's going to be a bumpy road and I may slip, but I want it now, it's time. Life is too short, I've seen that, no need to make it any shorter.
Lesson: Smoking is not worth it.
Did I Learn It: God, I hope so
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)