Nicotine Dreams and Rude New Yorkers: AKA My journey with the patch

So I went on the patch last Friday after my lunch break. That last cigarette was great, but I've known now for some time that I should quit smoking. Maybe it was the diminished energy, or the coughing, but I think what it came down to was the wheezing. Nothing says health and well being like wheezing from time to time.

Buying the patch was easy, no prescription necessary. I walked back to the office with six weeks of patches and two smokes, one burning in my mouth. At my cubicle (my palace of office efficiency) I took the last cigarette and made a three dimensional no smoking sign with it. It sits next to my computer to remind me. I slapped on a patch and began my journey.

In the brochure they tell you that wearing the patch overnight is recommended but that if you have "vivid" dreams you should take it off before bed and re-apply in the morning. They're not kidding about the dreams. They also say that you shouldn't cut them in half to get a half dose, because of the way they're designed. Oh good reader, I'll get back to that last point later... oh yes I will.
So the first night I woke up somewhere between three and five times after having "vivid" dreams. By vivid the Nicoderm company is implying a sense of realism that the dreamer cannot detach from reality. In reality "vivid" from now on will be used to mean "skull f*cking horror-core nightmares that made me contemplate my sanity".

I only remember two specifically. The rest faded when I realized upon waking that the grim reaper had not just decapitated me or that my family was indeed still alive, not gunned down. The first dream I remember, Friday night/Saturday morning, was that 9/11 was happening again but I didn't want to mention that it had already happened since everyone else didn't seem to notice. The second, last night/this morning, that I remember was being in my Mom's backyard playing with my brother. Seth had three toy tanks and I had a shovel and some manure. A stealth jet flew over and dropped a big metal egg, which I thought was a bomb. When it didn't explode my brother and I ran into the house. At that point the egg started making Sputnik noises and then opened, revealing a claymation fire hose. The hose sprayed water at Seth, knocking him unconscious and then my alarm went off. For some reason that dream was really unpleasant to me when it happened, but writing it makes it play out like Pee-Wee's playhouse.

The instructions for the patch say not to cut it in half. It's designed to slowly release nicotine into your blood stream over the course of 24 hours, replicating the experience of smoking throughout the day. If you cut it in half, the barrier which regulates the release is compromised allowing ALL the nicotine to go straight into your blood stream. So this morning I tried to peal the patch from it's backing from the wrong side. I thought nothing of possible damage I could have done until I got to the station and was waiting for the train.

I was tired yes, but I felt really weird. Being the dutiful soldier I got on the train to go to work. After the train left our station I started to feel sweaty and mildly nauseous. I convinced myself that I was creating these sensations because I had thought I might have tore the patch, not because I had torn the patch. I had torn the patch. Deciding it was worth risking the chance I was right, I took the patch off. I was becoming quite light headed and was in the process of asking a fellow passenger for a seat (not an easy task) when I found myself walking through a field on a cloudless summers day.

The next thing I knew I was lying on the floor of the train while a woman, who would later tell me her name was Rita, asked if I was "okay". I don't like to be woken from sleep and I would have told her off if I hadn't been so confused about why I'd gone to sleep on the floor of the N train. She suggested I take a seat that had opened up, presumably from someone fleeing from the sick passenger. I took the seat and met the concerned, and annoyed faces of my fellow travelers. Rita was very nice, seeing if anyone had water, asking if this had happened to me before and what not. I answered by leaving her, and the rest of the train, for the field again.

What a glorious wheat field it was, and the sky was such a dark blue for such a sunny day. When I came to again I was still seated but now Rita was suggesting that we get an ambulance and get me off the train at the next stop, Canal St. After a wee bout of vomiting I felt considerably more in charge. I got off the train with Rita and Ann(e?) and sat waiting for the EMTs. Thanks again to Rita, Ann and the NY EMTs. You all showed a considerable amount of patience and care. To all of you reading this, thanks for nothing. See what happens next time you get sick. I'm not helping and there won't be any goddamn chicken soups.

Just to sort out some details, I did not have to go to the hospital. The EMT's checked my blood pressure (Which according to them was very good for a healthy person), my pupils and my pulse. Everything was fine, I just felt funny at that point. I am writing this addendum at work after eating 18 pieces of sushi... KINGMAN'S BACK!