Dr Max reflects on his long journey to quitting smoking and why you should do it too
I LOVED CIGARETTES. I mean, really loved them. I loved buying the packet and picking the seal open on the side and opening the box for the first time. I loved the sound of my lighter and the crackling of the tobacco as I lit the cigarette, and the burn of the first breath as it went down into my lungs. I was, to put it simply, in love with cigarettes.
Throughout my twenties I told myself that I would give up one day. One Day. That seemed reassuringly far away to prevent me panicking too much, but also definitive enough to fool myself into thinking I’d give up before it killed me. When I’m 30, I decided. But then 30 came and went and nothing happened. It was several more years before I realised that, if I didn’t make a concerted effort, I’d be smoking until I died. I loved smoking, but I knew it was killing me.
Then, my gran and aunt died from lung cancer and this had brought on a new round of nagging from my mum about my smoking. Then there was the cough. At about this time, there was a government campaign saying that if you’d had a cough for a month, you should go to the GP to get it checked out as it might be cancer. I’d had my cough for five months. After a family party, my sister called me to say that she’d noticed I was coughing a lot and this seemed to have been going a long time and she was worried I had cancer.
I had a moment of horrifying clarity: even if this does turn out to be nothing, unless I decide to stop smoking, there is a high probability that at some point in my life I’ll have a cough or some other symptom and it will be cancer or a similar awful disease. Needless to say, I went to the GP and had a chest X-ray and it wasn’t cancer. But I began to think that I really did need to have a good, hard think about my smoking and what I was going to do about it. I needed to make sure that I definitely loved it enough that I wouldn’t mind dying for it. The more I thought about it, the more I questioned what it was I really loved about it. The fact was, I was an addict. I’d spent several years working in drug addiction clinics and I was making all the kind of excuses that the alcohol and drug addicts I’d worked with over the years made—I could give up whenever I want, you had to die of something, I enjoy it, and so on.
I decided to quit. The first time I did it on a whim and after a few days when out for drinks with friends, I caved in and had one. The next day I bought a pack of 20 and that quit attempt was well and truly a failure. But I learned from this and decided
