The Easiest Way to Stop Smoking

Though this post may appear a little off topic, it is loosely related to living in Turkey and absolutely related to my life here ...or anywhere.

It started about a month ago with a regular cough and cold. Something that I've become accustomed too since choosing a career as a school teacher. The cold came and went but I was left with a hacking cough that refused to budge.

I decided, eventually, to get down the local clinic for a check-up. After a short inspection by the chest doctor, I was sent off for x-rays and blood tests. It all seemed a trifle unnecessary as I was only after some cough syrup.

Heading back the next morning, In a brief window between lessons, I waited impatiently for the doctor to become free.

Finally I was in and we small talked about how my Turkish was coming along and where his son should study in England before getting down to the diagnosis.

Picking up a piece of paper, and pausing to read... "there is no virus. Your blood is fine. Antibiotics are no good for you".

Great, I thought. Nothing serious then.

Like something from a movie, he slapped the x-ray into the clamps of the light box and switched it on with that familiar fluorescent flicker. Pausing only to read the Radiologists report, he studied the x-ray.

"One minute" he said, standing and leaving the room.

What the fuck is going on?

"Sorry, I just wanted to ask the Radiologist something".

"What did you ask?" I probed.

"Do you have any contacts at either of the University Hospitals?" OK, I'm not liking the way this conversation is going. I just want some cough syrup.

He continued ... "I don't like what I see here. This area" he said, circling a dark patch in my left lung "this is too big. It could be nothing, but it could be an indication of something else".

"What do you mean?" I asked calmly frantic.

"Maybe this is just how you are made. But it sometimes means there is another problem".

My heart was now racing. I was sweating.

"Mr Doctor (that's how you address a doctor in Turkey), you mean cancer?". This was not the time to fuck about with euphemisms.

"Yes" he said, also not wanting to fuck about with euphemisms.

Q: What's worse than finding a maggot in your apple?
A: Your doctor suspecting you might have lung cancer.

That small word was the start of something big. From the moment that word was released from his lips, I stopped listening to him. In fact, every word he said afterwards seemed a waste of breath and infuriated me.

Tears rolled down my cheeks while my mind flitted from one thought to the next. How could I have been so stupid? I'd always known the risks of smoking but ... how could I have been so stupid? Ignore it! Forget it! Pretend I never came to the doctors. It'll be fine. Cough syrup please!

I left the clinic in a zombie-like trance. I made it to the lesson on time, but it wouldn't have made any difference. I didn't care. I couldn't be bothered to shout at the kids. Yet they sensed something was different about me. They backed off.

I went through a number of decisions in my head. The first thought was that I wanted to have kids. I very quickly came to the realisation that, as much as I wanted them, I wanted them to have a father that was alive. It was too late for kids.

I thought about ways of dying. Perhaps finding a country that supported euthanasia and taking the easy route. Wouldn't that be better for my loved ones? Perhaps I should just take off around the world and die up a mountain somewhere? All these thoughts within an hour of hearing the news.

I decided I needed to at least take the next step towards finding out what was in my chest. I called a friend, an Oncologist at one of the university hospitals. I sent him the x-rays and waiting for the news. "95% sure it's fine but you might want to get a tomography to be 100% sure".

95% is good enough for me. Let's call it a day there.

I knew the right thing to do. It was the thing everyone was telling me to do. Learn the truth!

I called another friend at a local hospital and used his strings to jump the queue for a BT scan (I'm not really sure of the correct terminology but here it's called a 'Kontrastli Tomografi'). Basically, they inject something cool into your veins, run away and pass you through a big hoop thing that scans you.

Denied! I'd eaten too recently, so I had to go home for another night of staring at the ceiling, occasionally weeping and trying to distract myself with stuff that wasn't distracting me.

The next day, went to the chemist and bought the medicine that was to be pumped into my veins ...even the syringe. I love the Turkish health system. Bring a bottle.

Soon I was on my back and watching a man in scrubs artfully pierce my brachial artery with a spike not dissimilar in girth to a javelin.

The next 30 minutes passed slowly while I waited for the results. Not as slow, I might add, as it may have felt waiting the 5 days non-string-pullers would have to wait. The guilt of using connections and pulling strings is something that passes after a while of living in Turkey. This is the way life is here. If you've got a connection, use it. If not, someone else will. Those with no contacts need to find some or ...wait.

I got the all clear from the doctor. My lungs are fine. My heart is fine. The arteries are all fine. I wanted to kiss him. On the mouth.

So what's changed? I realise how shit can happen around every corner. I've got no time for stress, idiots or doing things I don't want to do. And, of course, I stopped smoking. Right there and then. Hearing the word 'cancer' from the mouth of a doctor looking at my lung x-rays was more than enough to put an end to that foolish behaviour.

Breeze Block

As I've mentioned many times in this blog, the Turks are a brave nation. They single-handedly freed their own land from a multitude of occupiers and are perpetually ready to do it again. Any trip on the nations roads will tell you that these people have no fear. A man will slice his own arm off, rub a bit of lemon cologne on it, light up a cigarette and calmly say "tsk, it's nothing".

But I've discovered a weakness; a chink in their armour if you will. Something that sends a shiver down the spine of any God fearing Turk. Something so feared, they'll always make sure they are carrying something to protect themselves (and others) from it. So what is this foe? What is the Turkish Kryponite? For a Turk, there is nothing as horrifying as a mild breeze.

The fear of catching a cold is absolute and even in the height of the hottest summer, a Turk will always make sure their lower back and neck are protected from any kind of cool air.

Actually it's the cold in any form. Cold water, cold floors, cold breeze, cold sea... they are all potential menaces.

Whenever I talk to my nan about my mum and days gone by, the one thing that sticks in her mind is how "she always walked around barefoot and never covered her childrens' feet". The fact that the ambient temperature was 50 degrees matters not. The shortest route the devil can take to whisk away your soul is through your feet via cold tiles or cold water hitting your stomach.

Through the years, I've been ill many times in Turkey. Everything from throat abscesses to dysentery and every time I come down with something, the response is always the same: "you must have got cold". It's certainly a possibility but having lived 31 years on a small island in the North Sea, I'd probably say my body is pretty resilient to all things 'chilly'.

Taking a wild guess, I'd wager it was swimming around a couple of metres above a cracked sewage pipe that blessed me with Amoebic Dysentery (being, as it is, an 'anal>oral desease). I'd go further to say that eating meat from a sheep's carcass that'd been swinging in the midday sun for god knows how long led to the numerous times I've been scared to sneeze for fear of ruining my shorts. But, no, it must be the fact that I wasn't wearing slippers.

This isn't just a wives tale. I hear doctors make this diagnosis. I wonder, though, is there any truth in it? Could it be that we're wrong and they're right? Just what damage can the cold really do?

"The results are back and I'm afraid you have a rather aggressive form of Gonorrhea. Now, I want you to think back. Have you drunk any cold water recently?"

When offering water to someone, you always have to ask "would you like cold, room temperature or a mixture?". Everyone has their own way of taking water and it's always best to ask.

Children never drink cold water (though, bizarrely, ice-cream is all good). Children a wrapped up like Inuits as soon as their arse leaves the sea. Childrens' feet are constantly monitored for any indication of dropping below 'warm'.

Here's an experiment you can try at home. Below is a picture of me with my gorgeous niece Lily. Show this picture to a Brit then show it to a Turk and notice the difference in the response:



You probably got responses similar to...

British response: "My God, she's gorgeous. Look at that fat belly! And those feet! I could eat her up".

Turkish response: "My God, her belly's not covered! ...and her feet! Poor thing. Oh my God!" followed by a stream of prayers along the lines of "God protect her", clutching their ear lobes and knocking on the table (it's the "God protect you" gesture).

When I was a baby, we lived in Turkey for a year. In Antalya, arguably one the hottest areas of the country. I was just months old and mum would lie me in my cot and point a fan at me to stop me from cooking in my own sweat. On seeing this, my grandmother would begin to pray for God to intervene and cut the electricity to block. It just ain't done I tell you.

When my Turkish family used to visit us in the UK, no matter what season they arrived, they'd be wrapped up in scarves, gloves and full length fur coats. "It's like ice, I tell you. Ice!".

I mentioned the throat abscess I had once. My neighbour came in to see how I was doing (I was fine. I just had a sore throat). What happened next, will haunt me till the day I die (probably of a cold neck). She rubbed my entire body in Deep Heat, wrapped me in blankets and closed all windows and doors to keep the warmth in. This was one of the hottest Summers on record, by the way. Ever cooked Salmon en Papillote? You see where I'm going with this.

The other night I was having dinner at my cousin's house. As I sat there on the balcony, I looked out to all the other families doing exactly the same. It's a lovely sight to see people enjoying the evening with their loved ones, chatting, debating, laughing and tucking into the delights of the Turkish kitchen. But if you look closely, you'll notice that theirs a constant ballet of people switching seats to avoid the evening breeze.

Throughout the summer, you'll hear Turks complaining of sore throats ("I must have got cold"), or lower back pain ("I must have got cold"), headaches ("I must have got cold") and a whole host of other cold-related ailments.

I know that now having written this post, I'm opening myself up to the most severe bout of the flu but I simply had to share this rather curious difference in our cultures. Excuse me now while I take a cold shower and sit on the balcony to dry off with a nice cold glass of water. May God protect me.