I was into my thirty-third year of a two-pack a day habit when a doctor I really trusted and respected told me that he wasn’t going to treat me any more unless I stopped smoking cigarettes. I never smoked a cigarette from the very moment of that phone call. It was the easiest cold turkey I could ever imagine; I guess I was just ready.
About six years later, I woke up one Saturday morning yearning desperately for a smoke. I fought it back but that yearning lasted all day and until I finally went to sleep that night. But it was gone the next morning, and that Saturday remains the only bad quitting day I’ve had in those fifteen years.