Am I being unreasonable? Am I expecting too much from an expectant mother who is also a smoker? Should pregnant woman legally be allowed to smoke?

I ask these questions because I am really at a loss. Where does one draw the line of between being a responsible citizen and condemning unethical behaviour and interfering in other people’s private business?

I am a smoker, it is a disgusting habit that I am ashamed to enjoy, but quitting has been a bit more of a challenge than I originally anticipated when I started smoking. Contrary to the norm, I was alone when I started smoking, so it was by no means pressure from any peers; not verbally anyway.

It was my first day at Tertiary; I was sitting on a set of rocks which to this day still stay arranged concave facing the library building at that lovely institution of higher learning in Durban. I was physically shocked. Freedom, it seems, was a bit too much for me to handle. See, I was formulating a plan of how I would play this whole higher-learning thing. The amount of utterly ridiculous freedoms I could enjoy must have been rather overwhelming for me and, failing to find easy solutions, I needed an external outlet.

Young, nubile beautiful black woman were mincing about me – hugging, greeting, laughing all dressed in the latest in Durban summer fashion of Y2K. There were mini’s, shorts, tight jeans, tops that left little to the imagination and all seemed to have one function — to reveal as much as possible without the said lass actually being in the nude – the system failed occasionally to applause from the excited young male populous. Thongs were en vogue – shocking for a guy who spent all of high-school life playing a malay of sport or perusing books away from the madness that he was now confronted with.

At that moment, as I watched my new life get revealed to me, I had a craving, one that I had never felt below, and at that moment I knew what I needed: a Craven A loose cigarette from the street vendor behind me.

80c.

I paid, lit, took a long drag and let the fumes fill my lungs with relief – I never coughed – this is how I started smoking. I have since been trying to quit; spent quite a bit of money on quitting. I am yet to be successful at this. It seems that to start is much easier than to give up. The longest I have been without a cigarette in the past few years is the infinitely excruciating eighteen or so hour trip to New York I took in 2006. After six hours without a smoke I became ill – lost dinner all over the small bathroom – not a pretty sight.

So maybe I understand – I have never believed the bull that is sometimes sold by female smokers. I am not saying all of you, but some I have wondered. And I know that the health of a baby is so much more important than the pleasure of a nicotine shot, but come now, as soon as they discover they are pregnant they quit smoking there and then?! That easily? It seems too good to be true. I say it is good because I know that is the series of events that should take place.

Get pronounced pregnant, quit smoking – immediately!

I know smoking is harmful and I hate the fact that I smoke and I never smoke near children or prissy friends who are sooo disgusted by my caveman habit “… you DO know that smoke is a solid, right? It sticks on your clothes and you smell of it … You smell like an ashtray … No wonder no one will marry you; they can’t stand the stink … and you are fat on top of that … blah, blah, blah” like a real nag, the little girly-man.

My point though is I never impose my vile habit on anyone else. I steer clear when I shoot-up and I wash my hands and mouth whenever I can to try and keep them fresh. I am what one calls a considerate smoker a.k.a. spineless and ashamed. Which brings me to my question: is smoking when one is pregnant imposing their habit on a defenseless individual (the baby) and is this then infringing on their little rights and by extension should this be made illegal for it is a life and death situation – literally?

I tell you what brought me to this question: one thing I hate more than my smoking is owing people. I ran out of ciggies at work and thought I could get some at Makro at lunch while I bought my iron — the maid said the other one is broken, (maybe I should’ve checked before I went and bought a new one – when did irons start costing so much? Damn!), but in any case – I couldn’t find a single pack of ciggies and I wasn’t about to buy two hundred. That defeats my “I’m going to quit any day now” motto, so I had to “bum” some from this lady in my department. She is pregnant, but smokes as much as I do, which is about a pack a day.

As I procured two “loose” from her, utterly embarrassed at my desperate action, I unwittingly told her “… I promise I will reimburse you for these …” Now I have to reimburse her and the debt will eat at me until I do. I have to find a way, but I … I … I’m Christian. Okay, only sometimes, so I do not wish to be an accomplice to the possible affecting of an infant’s health negatively – I couldn’t live with myself – though I still have not verbally shown my disapproval either as she drags away.

I am in no way equating the life of a child to the weight of the burden of debt, so don’t get me wrong. Here are a few questions in closing:

1. Is/ should it be made illegal for pregnant woman to smoke?
2. What should one do at the sight of a pregnant smoker?
3. How should I pay my debt?
4. By giving her two loose, would I be as guilty as her should something adverse happen to the baby?
5. What are the odds of the baby being born with some kind of defect from the mother’s smoking?
6. Am I being a judgmental hypocrite?
7. If she ever runs out and asks me, should I give her one of mine?
8. What can the law do about pregnant smokers, if anything?
9. How can I stop smoking?
10. Lime or orange – which is the new black?

I need a smoke.

I rest, burdened.

The Sumo

Author

  • The Sumo is a strapping young man in his late 20s who considers himself the ultimate transitional South African. Born and raised in a KwaZulu-Natal township near Durban, he was part of the first group of black initiates into the "multiracial" education system. He was (and is) always in contrast to the norm, black in "white" schools, a blazer-wearing coconut in the township streets, and now fat in a sea of conventional thinness in the corporate world. This, and a lifetime of junk-food consumption and beer guzzling, has culminated in the man you will come to know as the Sumo. See life through this man's eyes; see life through lard.

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The Sumo

The Sumo is a strapping young man in his late 20s who considers himself the ultimate transitional South African. Born and raised in a KwaZulu-Natal township near Durban, he was part of the first group...

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