Tough Choice: Smoke and die v. Quit and die

I have admitted to the guilty pleasure of being a sometimes smoker, although I happily identify as a non-smoker. I am well aware of the negative consequences of smoking and I choose not to indulge.

I’m not an addictive or automatic smoker, fortunately for me I can take ‘em or leave ‘em. Even so I struggle to watch an episode of Mad Men, where even the doctors have ashtrays on their desks, without longing for a cigarette.

Whatever additive tendencies I may have, smoking is not one of them. I enjoy every cigarette and contentedly go without a puff for years at a time. It’s not the same for others. Many, who know the risks and health affects of smoking and including some who disapprove of it, are also dependent on being able to light up another cigarette. Addicted.

There is a wonder drug, Champix, that blocks nicotine receptors in the brain and supports even the most addicted smokers to ‘give up’. Most will understand giving up to mean the cessation of smoking, and for some taking the drug giving up is more sinister, as some will die by suicide.

Now an argument rages about the greater harm cigarettes, which 16,000 deaths a year in Australia are attributed to, or Champix (the nicotine inhibiting wonder drug) the use of which was linked to 55 deaths by suicide in a week, in the US last November.

The US Food and Drug Administration now requires warnings on the medication “…highlighting the risk of serious neuropsychiatric symptoms in patients using these products. These symptoms include changes in behavior, hostility, agitation, depressed mood, suicidal thoughts and behavior, and attempted suicide. The added warnings are based on the continued review of postmarketing adverse event reports for varenicline and bupropion received by the FDA. These reports included those with a temporal relationship between the use of varenicline or bupropion and suicidal events and the occurrence of suicidal ideation and suicidal behavior in patients with no history of psychiatric disease.”
http://www.fda.gov/Safety/MedWatch/SafetyInformation/SafetyAlertsforHumanMedicalProducts/ucm170090.htm 1 July 2009

Apparently Pfizer, who market Chapix, have said a causal link between the drug and suicidal ideation has yet to be established. Now they sound a bit a tobacco company…

Established causal link or not I wanted to mention that Champix has been linked to insomnia, aggression, depression, suicide and quitting cigarettes.

What to do?

When things start to happen to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

Dr. Suess: Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

I wanna hold your hand 2

Charlotte sent me the link to this clip (long ago) in the midst of my panic about Hero – she reminded me of the power of holding hands…

I recommend watching with the sound ‘off’, the people watching get annoyingly gushy. I’ve warned you…

Holding someone’s hand works for (the Beatles) Charlotte, hedgehogs, otters and me.

His welfare is of my concern*

Offering help to a troubled colleague can be tricky territory. I hope that won’t hold you back from enquiring about the well-being of a colleague and being ready to extend your support.

The link above points to a recent article from the NY Times that provides some simple and practical advice. A couple of of points that resonated with me:

you should explain that you’re offering support, rather than judging or blaming
– keep in mind that you’re speaking as a concerned colleague not a therapist

Some will not want to talk about it (whatever ‘it’ is), still you can extend a friendly hand, lend an ear, or suggest other avenues of support.

I know you don’t know what to say.
No-one knows what to say.

Try something, say something, pick-up any feedback and adjust approach…

* Post title taken from the lyrics of He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother

I ♥ therapy

I use the term therapy and you could call it counselling, or seeing psychologist, whatever term is familiar, you will know what I mean. I want to recommend therapy for lots of reasons.

Firstly it’s a relationship that offers sanctuary. When I sit with my therapist anything can be aired and explored. I say sit as some may have images of reclining on couches, however I’ve never laid down on a couch, I sit.

Then there is the unconditional acceptance of whatever I feel whatever I think and whatever I say. That’s unconditional support and acceptance of me. It’s potent. That’s therapy.

I feel empowered to stand on my own and I feel brave beyond what my innate super-powers would normally allow. I doubt I would be writing here if my therapist hadn’t encouraged me to start a little writing project.

She uses a Process Work orientation. The best. When she holds the mirror I like what I see. It’s a very special relationship that’s all about me and how I am in the world.

I know myself better, I am not as afraid of the world that Mottsu couldn’t live in… not as afraid as I used to be. I’m making my own way, maybe not boldly (and maybe bold is coming) but certainly with more awareness of a whole raft of things.
Yep I really ♥ therapy.

I would be here without therapy, that much it true, and I would be duller less me sort of me. Less true to myself.

Bats in the belfry

Robertson rang on Saturday morning to say our regular coffee at the market would be in the ‘new place’, rather our usual coffee spot.

“Sorry” I said, “I won’t make it to coffee today. I have a therapy session at 10:30…”

Phew. I had said it. I had admitted to my ongoing and ad-hoc therapy. I was pleased with myself for having mentioned it casually to a friend. An edge crossed, even if it was not as easy to ‘fess up to as I would have liked.

Robertson, to his credit, didn’t skip a beat and suggested a catch up over brunch the next day.

When we met he asked how my massage had been. Massage? For a moment we were both puzzled and muddled. He thought I had gone for a beauty treatment or a therapeutic massage.

The relief I had felt thinking that Robertson, a good friend, had simply accepted my use of therapy, turned to dismay, as I realised I had been misunderstood. Haha…. I sort of nervously laughed it away.

Therapy. I would love talking about therapy to be easier, more everyday. Therapy is one of the things that has helped me through grief, it is one of the ways I have looked after myself.

I must have bats in my belfry for shrugging off something so important, and something I should talk about and explain more. After all, where is the stigma? Only in my mind? I know I perceive some reproach from the world at large, and there’s no specific criticism. It could be just me…

During next week’s coffee with Robertson I’ll tell him more.