I am pretty sure I have an addictive gene. My sister and brother too. And I think it comes from my mums side.
Like most character traits, it can be a positive and a negative. There are many good things I inherited from Mum. And from Dad. And many not so good things too. The result of this particular one is that I rarely do things by halves. I am focused. Intently so. Either extremely passionate about a thing, or almost oblivious.
I came across this link via a local bikers forum. The full title of the video is “TT 2012: A Dangerous Addiction” and introduces you to the bikers who race at the TT, why it hasnt been banned in this overly safety conscious country and some of the challenges they and their loved ones face.
Well worth spending three quarters of an hour watching. I can understand what motivates them, though I also know they are in a different class altogether.
Today was visit number three, which makes it day 12 smoke free. I wasnt stood waiting outside for it to open last week, so it was a little busier today. A saw a new nurse (new to me, not to the clinic) called Karen, pleasant, well mannered and offering the usual support.
My carbon monoxide levels are down to 2ppm (parts per million), a big drop from my first visit of 47. We talked about different coping mechanisms, methods of distracting myself when I have the urges and Karen wrote me a two week prescription for the patches which is excellent as it means I don’t need to go back for a fortnight.
It does feel strange, having this dependency on them for the patches – though far better than being dependent on cigarettes. I wonder how heroin addicts cope with having to visit a pharmacy every day when they are on methadone. It is probably the least of their worries most of the time, but it is a constant battle for them and ties them to when and where they can go places. Either way, the visits to the cessation clinic remind me that smoking is an addiction, one that has had me in it’s grasp for nearly 30 years and cost me a bloody fortune. It gives me a boost to know that I am kicking it into touch and is something I need to remind myself of when this whole “packing in” endeavour get’s me down.