So...

Miss Addy

After hearing my adorably-priceless 2 yr.old daughter utter... "Daddy what are you doing?  Can I have one of those?" on one of my random smoke breaks out on the patio, I decided it was time to become a "Quitter".  Not to mention the $2500/yr expense. (which is half of the max contribution one can make to a Roth IRA for the year.) I could care less about the health ramifications... but for my daughters sake I seriously have to take that into consideration.  I have been abusing cancer-sticks since I was 12 yrs old... So stopping after 18 years of huffing and smoke-ring blowing will be an ENORMOUS challenge.
*Note* - I have never quit anything in my life... well... kinda... there was that time I walked out on my job at that Super Home Improvement Center I used to work for.  But... That's another post in it's own right.
After unsuccessfully trying patches, gums, bells, whistles, and E-cigs, in the past, (yeah... I fell for that fad too)
I decided it was time to man up and go see a Doctor.
 Although... e-cigs were fun to whip out and puff on in smoke-free restaurants/buildings, watching people scamper and become extremely bitter, rude, and uncomfortable...
Sometimes pissing people off is just mandatory!

Not being much of the "hospital-friendly" type, in fact I couldn't tell you the last time I saw a doc... except when I had to have my finger surgically reattached... (yet another post in it's own right), I reluctantly made that appointment to see a local drug dealer (aren't that what Dr.'s really are???).  After having my appointment rescheduled an hour earlier than I had made it for... on a work day (Balls...) I ended up having to wait until my original scheduled time to get in anyway, quite patiently I might add, seeing as how I lack that virtue.  I was truly proud that a meltdown didn't ensue in their waiting area, ending in me being carted off by local authorities.
After the aid called my name (No one gets my name right...), took my weight, BP, height, and after me answering 150,000 redundant questions about my health... (I don't get sick... Period! My rhetorical answers of "NO" before the questions came from the aids lips were catching her attention.)  I finally go to see
Dr. ______ ! (I don't remember his name and that's how much I could really care)
After looking in my ear, throat, and checking my back-breathing... (I'm a smoker.. I want stop-smoking drugs... why are you looking in my ears?) he pulled out his mighty baby-blue bible drug-dealer pad and $200 ball-point pen and signed his magical autograph on said baby-blue paper giving me legal permission to medicate (Yes, we need special permission to take things to save our lives... Odd!)
We did have a brief discussion covering if I were to feel homicidal... or suicidal... that I should stop taking the pill immediately.  I told Dr. _____, that I make no promises and if genocide occurs I've got his signature to back my defense case.

So here it is... time to see how well Chantix and me can kick Camel's a$$...

to be continued...

~Doogin