Epiphany

E.piph.a.ny (noun) [i piffbnee]
1. sudden realization
A sudden intuitive leap of understanding, especially through an ordinary but striking occurrence.
Encarta Dictionary: English (North America)

I had intended ‘Magic of the Muses’ to be a blog about my journey towards publication. Instead, it turned into a diary of my Quest to Quit smoking. I reluctantly admitted that my blog was not attracting the attention of editors, writers, agents, and publishers, but rather drawing visits and comments from scientists, from those in the throes of nicotine withdrawal, and from those professing to hold the magic solution to addiction.

As I dealt with the pangs of quitting, I doggedly pursued my efforts to find an agent--pitching my adult novel, “Noraebang.” However, my obsession with cigarettes (or lack thereof) took a toll on my creativity. My writing efforts became limited to short email queries, blog updates on my battle with the butt, and incessant chatter on Quitnet forums.

When I hit day 60 smoke-free, I began proudly offering advice to those less seasoned in their quitting efforts, despite the fact I was becoming increasingly tense about finishing the last of my Champix prescription. It was about then that a Quitnet expert advised me that if I wanted to be a successful quitter, I had to give up my belief that cigarettes were pleasurable.

I didn’t think this was a viable concept as I considered the pleasure derived from nicotine a ‘fact’, not a ‘belief’.

However, I remembered once reading that one should be wary of putting too much faith in facts. Facts change. For example, it was once a fact that man could not journey to the moon. Was the pleasure of smoking a malleable fact like man’s space-travelling abilities? Or was it an unchangeable and forever kind of fact, like 1 + 1 = 2?

During each of my three pregnancies, cigarettes (both mine and others) were obnoxious and nauseating—not really a pleasure. Perhaps there was some flexibility to the fact. Perhaps cigarettes weren’t pleasurable when I was pregnant and weren’t pleasurable to some people, but...if I were to, say, suck back a Player’s Smooth with tomorrow morning’s coffee, could I actually believe that experience would not be pleasurable?

An ad hoc poll of my ex-smoking buddies showed them evenly split between those who believed cigarettes were no longer pleasurable, and those who had no doubts that they were. If I could bring myself to believe that smoking was a disgusting, unsatisfying activity, it would certainly be a fair bit easier to give up my cravings, resist temptation, and get on with a smoke-free life—forever. But was it at all possible?

Was it even sane to convince oneself to believe something that one knows isn’t true? I worried I was doomed to be a slave to nicotine. And all the pain and panic of the past weeks would be for nought.

Then something strange happened.

I opened my eyes one morning, pushed my Pomeranian away from my face, and knew something I hadn’t known when I went to sleep. I immediately panicked.

Although it is eerie that characters visit me, dictate stories to me, boss me around, and argue and stuff, I love writing and their stories are so interesting I find it easy to ignore the freakiness.
But this was different. I simply opened my eyes and my brain had this thought, "Quitting smoking is just like 'Noraebang'".

And I go, “Yeah, like right.” The pom is again licking my face—a sure sign that he needs to go out. I toss him to the floor. Some of the characters in my novel, “Noraebang,” smoke, but as far as I know, none of them quit.

My head insists on explaining the wayward thought, "The addiction--"

"Noraebang isn't about addiction,” I argue, reluctantly pushing back the covers and setting my feet on the floor. “It's about a woman in an abusive relationship." I swing my feet in circles to keep my toes away from the puppy’s tongue.

"And how does it end?"

"Not very well," I think dourly. I shuffle to the door and escort the pup onto the balcony. "I thought the heroine finally saw the villain for what he was in reality, but the moment there's an inkling of a chance that he loves her, Allie is back grovelling at his feet..."

"What was he in reality that she didn’t see?"

"Carbon was a scum bag! He raped her; beat her; abused and used her." I glower out across the leafless treetops. The misty morning autumn air slides under my nightie. I shiver. The pond is still. A lone Canada goose swoops in for a landing.

"Does the scum bag love her?"

"I have no idea. If he does, it certainly doesn't match my definition of love." I think about the ending to the story. I hadn’t wanted that ending. I had wanted my hapless heroine to be intelligent, strong--to be guided by commonsense. I wanted her to discover real love, not remained trapped by her misplaced loyalty to an abusive man.

"Does she love him?"

"Yeah. Unfortunately..." The dog is scratching at the door to go back in.

"Why?"

A flock of geese floats in over the far hill. My lone goose rises to join his brethren. I follow the dog back into the bedroom.

"I don't know why she loves him. His sparkling eyes? Perhaps his deception?”

It wasn’t easy knowing why she loved him. He’d lied to her about his feelings, his motives...lied about everything. I open the bedroom door and puppy runs to find his master. I hear coffee perking. I close the door to the smell of fresh ground Arabica and shuffle to the ensuite.

“At one time,” I point out to myself, “she needed to bond with him to survive. Maybe she's scared of what life will be like without him. Maybe it gives her justification for falling for him in the first place."

"Ahh, I see. Substitute "she" in the preceding conversation with 'Eileen' and "he" with 'cigarettes' and what have you got?"

Does Eileen love cigarettes?

Yeah. Unfortunately...

Why?

I don't know why. Cigarette’s sparking eyes? Perhaps cigarette’s deception? At one time, I needed them. Cigarettes lied to me about their feelings, their motives...lied about everything. Maybe I’m scared of what life will be like without cigarettes. Maybe it gives me justification for starting to smoke in the first place....

Yes, my life surprisingly parallels that of a heroine in a novel I’d written long before I’d even considered giving up cigarettes. I hadn’t known then, hadn’t known until now that entanglement in an abusive relationship was so similar to an addiction.

I stare at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My heroine didn’t learn to ‘unlove’ her abuser as I had wanted, but perhaps I ought to quit loving nicotine and see it for the villainous, dangerous, abusive, enslaving thing that it is. I was beginning to believe it was possible, imperative. I sigh and turn from the mirror.

Now, if only Allie had come to believe Carbon was a no good rotter...

Ephiphany: A sudden intuitive leap of understanding, especially through an ordinary but striking occurrence.

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Beware: The power of your pen

I've been Quit 68 days. Saved $448.80. Salvaged 7 days, 17 hours of my life.

I get those stats from the Quitnet website which includes discussion forums for quitters, expert advice, links to personal advisers, a buddy system--lots of good stuff. I enjoy this site because not only does it support my quit, but it's a chance for me to help others who are quitting. (http://www.alberta.quitnet.com/)

I'll let the following excerpt from an email I wrote to my good friend and confidante, C**, relate what happened next....

Hi, C**

I managed to antagonize users of another forum--my Quitnet forum! I have a fellow quitter accusing me of trying to lure ex-smokers back to cigarettes!

Sheesh! What does he think I am? A nicotine demon hired by the tobacco companies to infiltrate Quitnet and lure back their customers? What the hell? It upset me. Lots. Remember I advised you that one should only hand over the power to hurt to those we respect? I didn't follow that advice.

I have spent lots of time on the Qnet forums offering support and encouragment, so the one time when I seek advice and encouragement and get shot down like that.... I guess I ought to have had more of a sense of humour about it. [Writing emails to you always sparks that possibility.] Actually, for the first time since it happened, I'm finding myself giggling about it. Thanks, C**, for giving me that perspective.

What happened was I wrote an email to Qnet's experts saying I only had a couple of weeks left on my Champix prescription and was scared I'd go back to smoking once it ran out. I was told (among other tidbits of advice) that to be a successful quitter I had to stop believing cigarettes were pleasurable. This startling advice was akin to being told I would inherit a billion dollars as soon as I believed the ocean wasn't salty...

So, that was the question I posed on Quitnet: had anyone out there been able to come to believe that cigarettes aren't pleasurable? Surprisingly (to me), there are many who have and many who believe this is a prerequisite to successful quitting.

One lady responded that since I hadn't believed cigarettes were pleasurable before I became addicted, it was just a matter of returning to that state of mind. To which I replied, it was not all that simple a step for me as I had found cigarettes pleasurable long before I took my first puff-- and in rather flowery, powerful language explained how as a child I'd been entranced by my father's smoking habit.

Do you suppose it was that wonderful piece of prose--describing slender swirls of blue twirling up the sunbeams...the contented look in my father's eyes...the wondrous aroma when he opened a fresh can of tobacco--

D'ya think that's what made him suspect me of infiltrating????

Thanks, C**. It now seems totally humorous to me.... No more tears...
---------------
I had intended my Qnet words to communicate my powerful affinity to nicotine. I thought if others better understood my addiction they'd be able to offer me more appropriate advice and encouragement. It was all about me.

Until I wrote the above email to C**, I had not considered the effect my alluring words might have on a community of people trying to quit.

Writers--always keep your readers in mind. Beware: The power of your pen...


Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Pangs, Pains, & Panic

Twenty-two smoke-free days and it strikes me that if smoking is like Twittering, quitting is like being in labour. The cravings--intense, painful, and raw--like contractions, come and go. Quitting smoking, like labouring, has positive results--that reportedly are well-worth the agony. However, that's about where the similarities end.

There's no one here to give me demerol, morphine, or a spinal to ease the pain when I'm in the throws of a craving. There's no one to assure me that the doctor won't let the cravings continue for more than 18 hours. There's no one rubbing my back, telling me that I'm half-way through my craving, and begging me to hang in there.

No one saying, "Breath deep. Keep breathing."

Two things kept me from panicking in the labour room. One was timing my contractions and knowing when I was half-way through them. The other was realizing that women for eons had being doing this and, therefore, I would too.

Knowing that the cravings will pass, provides a bit of comfort, but knowing others have successfully quit smoking doesn't help me much--because I also know that unlike labour, many have tried and failed. If three hours into labour a woman could change her mind and opt out of the pregnancy plan, we likely wouldn't have an over-population problem. However, in the quest to quit smoking, there is a choice. And everyone who tries to quit knows there is. That choice results in a hell of a lot more people failing in their attempt to quit than succeeding. I cannot comfort myself with the knowledge that all this pain is guaranteed to result in success.

I'm panicking. For over three weeks I've engaged in a distracting, agonizing, personal, and lonely battle with the nicotine demons. It's a battle I'm imagining will last forever. Again and again my soul will scream out for comfort. For years, I'll be restlessly wandering the house, empty and dark inside. Forever, I'll hear demonic voices whispering tales about the pleasures of 'Players.'

An endless battle I'm not assured of winning. The enticing option to retreat always there. No ointment to soothe my wounds. No deadline to win the war. Pangs, pain, and panic.

DOES ANYONE OUT THERE HEAR MY PAIN?

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Can Twitter help the Quitter?

Can Twitter help the Quitter? It's a question posed to me by Steve Ondersma, scientist at WSU Med School in Detroit, as I head into my third smoke-free week. "Wld lov yr thoughts!" he tweeted. It wasn't a question I'd considered before.

I hadn't joined Twitter to aid my quest to quit-smoking; I'd joined to promote myself as a Canadian author, 'get my name out there in cyberspace', curry friendships and potential readership, reach my goal of becoming a published novelist. By tweeting about my real-life quit-smoking efforts, I hoped to entice people to read my 'important' website stuff. Until Steve tweeted me, I hadn't thought that perhaps Twitter was also helping me reach my smoking-cessation goal.

"What has the world come to?" I lamented to my publicist. "Are people really relying on faceless friends and electronic messages of 140 characters or less for moral support? What happened to family and friends? Phone calls and hugs?"

One of the hardest parts of my stop-smoking strategy was announcing my intentions to family and friends--a necessary step in order to increase one's chance of success, according to smoking-cessation specialists. It was difficult to do, not only because I was scared that I was setting myself up for a very public failure, but because people's reactions are not always helpful. Comments like "It's about time!" or "Now you won't stink!" are a little tough on a fragile ego, especially when delivered by people you love.

On the other hand, announcing my decision to the entire world via Twitter was surprisingly easy, perhaps because I was masked in anonymity. Perhaps because with Twitter, escaping judgement was simply a keystroke away. Unlike my announcement to family and friends, my Twitter announcement had to be succint--less than 140 characters. There was no room for parlaying reasons, excuses, history, and blame. All I had to say was, "Hey, World. I'm gonna quit smoking."

Come to think of it, I have found Tweeting to be a lot like cigarette smoking. It takes less than five minutes. It provides short, intermittant breaks from the daily grind. It's readily available at all hours of the day and night. It provides a small burst of pleasure. It's addictive--the more you do the more you want to do.

Tweeting has soothed me when I was uneasy, energized me when I was tired, lifted my depression, and offer a me a social connection that rivals that of the smokers' circle. It's something I look forward to doing--something that gets me out of bed in the mornings.

Twitter's simularities to smoking, especially when coupled with its differences (such as much lower cost and no proven ill side-effects), may indeed prove Twittering to be a valuable alternative to smoking--just not when one is driving. Please.


Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Quest to Quit Smoking

My pre-planned quit date was September 1st.

I was on a road trip to Alaska with two friends and my husband as the days ground toward that dreaded last cigarette. Champix, the smoking cessation drug, built up in my system as the miles slipped behind us. I struggled to cut back on the amount I smoked and ended up smoking more as I desperately sought comfort from cigarettes which were no longer offering that pleasure. I crocheted, I laughed, I drank wine, watched grizzlies, and took photos of glaciers.

On the fifth day of taking Champix, 22 August 2009, I wrote in my diary. "Concentrated on pleasures from other sources: the kiss of my puppy, beautiful scenery, laughter of friends, beautiful flower baskets, the crunch of a Smarties' candy shell and the smooth chocolate beneath. The bite of dark roasted Arabic coffee. I feel better to have taken some conscious and deliberate steps to wean myself, rather than passively waiting for the pills to 'cure' me. Gives me a sense of control participation and counters the panic I feel when I contemplate life without cigarettes. If I quit Champix, cigarettes would again give me pleasure. However, the nicotine demons would demand my health and dollars in exchange for their service. I don't want that.

I realize the instant, on-demand spurts of nicotine pleasure have dulled many legitimate opportunities to experience positive emotions. Not only through the addiction aspect, ("Here, take the grandson. I need a smoke!") but also by dulling the senses of smell and taste. These two senses are closely linked to memory. I think of being a child and inhaling the smell of rain, dew on roses, frogs. Sharp cheese, fresh mown hay...spontaneous pleasures. Gifts: no sacrifices needed."

Day 11, 28 August 2009: "Have done well cutting back. Had 5 cigarettes all day. Cravings, if resisted, vanish in 5-10 seconds. Cravings only happen every 3-4 hours."

Day 14, 31 August 2009: "Felt depressed, as if saying farewell to a friend who for years has been there to comfort me. Have difficulty concentrating on good things about not smoking. Had about 4 cigarettes today. In the evening, I throw my last one into the campfire embers. I contemplate how one simple decision (to quit Champix) could bring back my friend. I do not feel at all like celebrating. I mention it to no one."

September 1st: Quit Day: "Over-riding feeling of depression throughout the day. Past traumas and tragedies mull around in my brain. Can I live with bad memories and current stresses without nicotine?"

September 2nd: "Awake to rain and puppy piddle on the mattress at my feet. No showers in this campground. Remnants of weird, busy dreams. It's so cold. Cravings are frequent and intense--but short-lived. I'm prickly with my friends. Moody. Quiet. Depressed."

September 3rd: "Wake in a more cheery mood. Today I feel better, stronger, more committed. This morning my mouth felt cleaner--the first advantage of non-smoking I've experienced. I wish I wasn't travelling so that I could engage in more exercise and have easier access to healthy snacks. Bought a 4-pound sack of Rockets candies. I don't fit any of the jeans I've packed."

September 4th: "Dark, bottomless emptiness into which 100 sour candies, a steak supper and two pieces of apple pie fall. Coffee and Irish Cream. I'm never sated, never full. I could eat forever. Sugar, caffeine, alcohol. Deep breaths of mountain air, long hikes. Four pounds of Rockets. Half a jug of white wine. 14 hours of sleep. Nothing is ever enough. Nothing fills the emptiness."

September 5th: "Coffee and cream liqueur. Two-hour hike through mountain muskeg. Fall colours, red berries, green moss, blue lakes, quiet. Friends. Hot sun. Slow nagging headache. An afternoon nap turns bad. I can't wake up for supper. Tired. So tired. Tummy stirs. Eyes close. Day 5. Yes. I can do it."

September 6th: "If I knew cigarettes would give me pleasure, I'd fall for the temptation. It's the bane of the addict--the drug always calls..."

Today, 12 September 2009, is my 12th smoke-free day. It has not been easy. It is not getting any easier. I feel like a baby that's lost its soother, a toddler bereft of her teddy bear, a child letting go her mother's hand to step into the classroom on her very first day of school.

Friends, I've been there, done all that, grew through it all and survived. We all know that this time will be no different.

Check out some tobacco trivia at http://www.eileenschuh.com/did-you-know/

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Day #3: Guilty Pleasure

Even though my quit date isn't until 1 September, I feel guilty about continuing to smoke. It seems odd that as I tell people I'm quitting, I'm lighting up.

I'm in a better mood today. Champix lost its edge and the damned cigarettes were half-assed pleasurable again. I guess that's why the dosage doubles on day #4 and again on day #8.

According the product insert from Pfizer, the manufacturer of Champix, "...it is not known exactly how the drug works in people." [Leaving me to wonder if it is known how it works in rats--just kidding. Their wording sounded strange to me, though.]

"Champix," the brochure says, "does not contain nicotine, but it has been shown to affect the nicotine receptor that is thought to be most related to smoking addiction....it acts like a weaker version of nicotine, and also blocks nicotine from getting to the receptor because it binds more tightly..."

I feel like I should be doing more than popping a pill. When I light up, I wish I'd resisted at least a little bit. I wish I'd kept up with my "Track a Pack" log--perhaps I am smoking less and don't know it. I've noticed my cigarettes often end up dead and only half-smoked in the ashtray. Yesterday, several times I paused in my websurfing, Twitter-learning, tweet-sending, and discovered my cigarette had gone out in my hand.

That NEVER used to happen! My cigarettes got smoked right down to the filter--every time without fail! After all, they cost way too much to waste!

Could it be this easy? Will I go to bed on September 1st and realize I didn't have a cigarette all day? Will there be no struggle? No pain? Will cigarettes just become unimportant to me?

It doesn't seem right that I don't have to pay with the agony of withdrawal for my sin of having smoked for thirty-odd years. Or, that I don't have to recommit to not smoking a hundred times each day, every time the Nicotine Demons whisper.

I'm taking a bit of a break from cyberspace to concentrate on a project. I thank you all for your support and when I come back, I'll update you on the joys of being a non-smoker.

Think of me on September 1st. I'll be thinking of you, and those thoughts will keep me strong!

Cheers!

The hero in my Back Tracker series struggles to quit smoking--a habit he picked up when working uncover with The Traz biker gang.

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Day #2: Seeking Pleasure

Because one is supposed to go at least 10 days on Champix pills before quitting, I didn't think I'd notice anything the first day. Wrong! Two hours after taking the tablet, I felt light-headed. But much weirder than that, something was dreadfully wrong with my cigarettes. It was as though I was smoking those ultra-light-one-hundred-pinholes-in-the-filter cigarettes. It was like being a kid and sucking on a hollow reed. It was like an emptiness inside me.

For those who have never smoked, let me tell you what you've been missing, and what I'm now missing. Pleasure. Instant pleasure. Now, I would never have thought of the word 'pleasure' to describe why I smoked, but it's a word used in one of my quit-smoking brochures.

Anothe brochure explains it this way: "Within minutes of inhaling, nicotine goes to your brain and gives you a temporary 'high'. Over time, your brain starts to adjust and you may need more smoke to get the same effect. Eventually, your brain adjusts again and the nicotine no longer produces a high. It produces a feeling you think of as normal."

A 'high', 'pleasure', 'normal'... I liken it to the minor contentment one feels after satisfying his/her thirst with a glass of cold water.

Now imagine being very thirsty and drinking a glass of water and still feeling thirsty. And drinking another, and still feeling thirsty. Imagine the rising panic as each succeeding glass produces the same non-effect.

Yesterday and today, cigarette after cigarette, and no burst of subtle pleasure. I had planned activities like crocheting and gum chewing to stave off the desire to do something with my hands and to distract me from my cravings. They weren't designed to give me an instant five-minute normal 'high'. I can't think of anything besides a cigarette that will give me that. So, I light one more.

It does nothing for me. I am cranky. I am empty. I am seeking pleasure.


Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
www.eileenschuh.com