Today is Smoke-free Day 114.
Yesterday, Tom and I were sitting on the couch hanging out together (doing a lot of that lately, and loving it even more not having to interrupt it with a bazillion smoke breaks only to come back smelling like, well, a butt), and he remarked that not only do I almost never cough in general, he really never, ever, hears me cough at night any more. I've blogged about this in the past, so it's not like it's new, but I'm allowed to get excited about the same things twice, and so I am still thrilled about this because it was again brought to my attention.
Where did my smokers cough go? It's just gone.
It's funny how so many of the changes since quitting smoking have already come to pass and have become the new normal and familiar. I forget sometimes things like what it was like trying to go to sleep while I would cough and cough and cough. Something about lungs being horizontal or something that made mine go nuts as a smoker. I would even wake up in a coughing fit, hating it. That's probably another factor in how much energy I have since quitting because I'm actually sleeping now.
My coughing scared me because I knew that all those busybodies that liked to tell me smoking was killing me were right (well, they still were busybodies nonetheless), and the coughing was such a real reminder that I had trouble ignoring. Sadly, it was tough for Tom to ignore, too, and he probably worried even more than I did because I had my addiction to rely on to tell me lies about how I'd quit someday and that it really wasn't as bad as it seemed and other thoughts that allowed me to continue sucking poison like a good little nicotine junkie.
There are moments when I would love to be able to smoke without consequence, but that's not possible, and I'm thrilled that I'm no longer coughing through the night and scaring away whichever cat has cozied his/her way into my arms.