The fog of cigarette smoke greets me as I open the front door. After a cursory knock on the door a thin voice called from inside signaled consent to enter.
I enter the corridor. Lit with a bright bare bulb that illuminates the 70's patterned carpet and artix covered walls with several doors leading off it and no clue as to where to go.
"Hello?" a call as I pop my head in the first door. A man is sat on the sofa, bolt upright, sleeping. I can smell the sweet and stale odour of alcohol in the room and he doesn't move or react as I enter the room. He is breathing steadily and regularly. Obviously asleep. Obviously not the 62 year old female with difficulty breathing we have been sent for.
"Through here!"
I hear my colleague call from a bedroom the back of the flat.
I enter the bedroom and immediately become enveloped in the smoke that fills the room.
A lady is sat perched on the edge of the bed. She lets out a hacking cough that sounds like its bringing up fluid from the depths of her lungs. She is a classic 'Pink Puffer', a patient with chronic bronchitis.
Its 5 am in the morning and our patient has had trouble sleeping due to an exacerbation of her day to day symptoms.
Her respiratory rate is increased and a cough, producing a green coloured phlegm, shakes her body regularly.
Despite all this my first words to her are "Could you put the cigarette out before be get started please?"
I do a few basic checks and place an oxygen mask on her ease her difficulty. A chair is brought into the flat to help her out. We manage to rouse her husband (the man sleeping upright on the sofa, apparently a regular occurrence as he can't sleep in the same room when she is coughing) to tell him we're taking his wife to the hospital. A cursory nod and wave of the hand tells us he understands.
In the ambulance I do a set of observations and start her on a dose of Salbutamol.
While taking a history I find she is currently on antibiotics for a chest infection. Its her second course in as many months to try and clear it. She has had bronchitis for 10 years, and is regularly on courses of antibiotics for chest infections.
"How many cigarettes do you smoke a day?"
"40"
"A day?!" I can't hide the surprise in my voice
"Yes, 40"
I'm amazed.
I'm amazed she can continue to kill herself so slowly and effectively.
I'm amazed we health professionals keep throwing medicine at her to prolong the inevitable.
This is another thing I just don't understand. When people know what this stuff is doing to them and they still continue to do it.
I guess I can also be called a hypocrit, the same argument can be made for alcohol, but I still indulge in that, so why do I find smoking so much more unacceptable?
I enter the corridor. Lit with a bright bare bulb that illuminates the 70's patterned carpet and artix covered walls with several doors leading off it and no clue as to where to go.
"Hello?" a call as I pop my head in the first door. A man is sat on the sofa, bolt upright, sleeping. I can smell the sweet and stale odour of alcohol in the room and he doesn't move or react as I enter the room. He is breathing steadily and regularly. Obviously asleep. Obviously not the 62 year old female with difficulty breathing we have been sent for.
"Through here!"
I hear my colleague call from a bedroom the back of the flat.
I enter the bedroom and immediately become enveloped in the smoke that fills the room.
A lady is sat perched on the edge of the bed. She lets out a hacking cough that sounds like its bringing up fluid from the depths of her lungs. She is a classic 'Pink Puffer', a patient with chronic bronchitis.
Its 5 am in the morning and our patient has had trouble sleeping due to an exacerbation of her day to day symptoms.
Her respiratory rate is increased and a cough, producing a green coloured phlegm, shakes her body regularly.
Despite all this my first words to her are "Could you put the cigarette out before be get started please?"
I do a few basic checks and place an oxygen mask on her ease her difficulty. A chair is brought into the flat to help her out. We manage to rouse her husband (the man sleeping upright on the sofa, apparently a regular occurrence as he can't sleep in the same room when she is coughing) to tell him we're taking his wife to the hospital. A cursory nod and wave of the hand tells us he understands.
In the ambulance I do a set of observations and start her on a dose of Salbutamol.
While taking a history I find she is currently on antibiotics for a chest infection. Its her second course in as many months to try and clear it. She has had bronchitis for 10 years, and is regularly on courses of antibiotics for chest infections.
"How many cigarettes do you smoke a day?"
"40"
"A day?!" I can't hide the surprise in my voice
"Yes, 40"
I'm amazed.
I'm amazed she can continue to kill herself so slowly and effectively.
I'm amazed we health professionals keep throwing medicine at her to prolong the inevitable.
This is another thing I just don't understand. When people know what this stuff is doing to them and they still continue to do it.
I guess I can also be called a hypocrit, the same argument can be made for alcohol, but I still indulge in that, so why do I find smoking so much more unacceptable?