My Quit Journey: Week Four with the Varenicline Service

Published: 26/06/25

Three weeks, that’s how long it’s been since I last smoked.

It still feels strange to say that out loud. Not because I don’t believe it, but because for so long, smoking was just part of who I was. This week has been about settling into the “new normal”. The chaos of the first few weeks has passed, and I’m learning how to live without cigarettes. It’s not always smooth, there are still moments when the urge creeps in, especially during quiet times or when I’m feeling stressed. But I’m getting better at recognising those moments for what they are, temporary.

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Varenicline supplied by my local community pharmacy continues to be a steady support. I’ve noticed that the cravings don’t hit as hard or as often. When those cravings do come, I’ve got strategies now: deep breaths, a quick walk, a glass of water, even just doing the dishes. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about being prepared.

My latest visit to my community pharmacy was, once again, a boost, though not in the way I expected. The Pharmacist was, as always, encouraging and grounded. We did another CO reading, but this time, the number had gone up. I was annoyed. It felt like the machine was betraying me. I’ve come to see those little numbers as proof that my body is healing, that all this effort is paying off. So seeing it rise is frustrating. Actually frustrating doesn’t even begin to cover it. We talked it through, and went through possible explanations. I’d spent the day working in Edinburgh city centre, surrounded by traffic and vehicle emissions. Maybe that was the culprit. To test the theory, the Pharmacist even took a reading himself, and scored a 1. That helped put things in perspective. It was disappointing, yes, but not a setback. My lungs are still clearing, my progress is still real, and this journey isn’t defined by a single number. That kind of perspective, and support, is what keeps me going.

There was a moment this week that really stayed with me. I was out with family at my brother’s concert, he’s the director of the Edinburgh City Orchestra, and normally, I’d have slipped away during the interval for a few puffs. But this time, I didn’t. I stayed in my seat, fully present. My brother noticed. He leaned over and asked quietly, “No smoke break tonight?” I paused, smiled, and said, “I don’t smoke.” And I meant it. Saying those words out loud, in that moment, felt powerful. I’m not saying it’s easy. Some days are still hard. But I’m learning to trust myself. To believe that I can do this. And I’m not doing it alone.

The support from my community pharmacy team has been a lifeline, practical, personal, and consistent.

Three weeks in, with many more ahead. And for the first time in a while, that thought feels more reassuring than daunting.

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