Do you Smoke? Still? Let me tell you a little story.
A COPD Story
How much evidence against smoking do you need? Please read this with an open mind. They come from the heart, but mostly from my Ravaged Lungs…
I once looked at people like me and thought that will NEVER HAPPEN. Not to me… I was never what you would call athletic, but I was active. Spent a bit of time in the outdoors.
This thing has kicked all that in the ass.
It’s beyond a good idea to quit to stop smoking.
I smoked for too damned long. 40 odd years. Started at about 14. Acquired COPD some years back. I don’t think at the time of the initial diagnosis I realized the jeopardy I would be putting myself in some years later.
I quit smoking at least 7 years ago by vaping. Once I started with the eCigs my doctor said I could count myself as an Ex-smoker! I slipped a few times…
Okay a bunch of times. But I always put the smokes back down after a bit. It usually happened when I was out in social situations. One or two when I was out being social (drinking). A pack bought late at night when I was having trouble sleeping.
I know this is a hard thing to do. Believe me, I think it was easier to give up Cocaine.
Once I was pretty much forced to stop hanging out in bars via a court mandate *I got a DWI. And a thrice damned monitoring device, commonly known as a breathalyzer, that I was required to blow into a few times a day* I found it much easier to stop smoking. I still vaped some, but not nearly to the extent that I was doing when I was drinking regularly. If perchance I happened to visit some of my old haunts, the old habits tried to, and sometimes succeeded in tempting me. But for the most part, I pretty much gave up both Smoking and Drinking. But I wasn’t nice about it.
Pretty much the Hardest Fucking Thing I Ever Had To Do. And I fought it, kicking and screaming *mostly silently but not entirely so.*
I don’t think most of my friends really realized how badly the two went together for me. It is a terrible thing to give up your favorite places, people, and things, all in one fell swoop.
I also had (and have) court mandated treatment. This helped some as well. But I fought the treatment. I fought it, kicking and screaming too. And *NOT SILENTLY*. “They doing’ this to me ’cause a WEED? Man, fuck this shit!” I even ended up in jail a couple of times because I fought treatment so good.
Treatment by Jail is what they call it. *Here come da Judge!*
The last place a person with severe COPD needs to be, is in (probably) ANY county lockup. Well anyone really *laughs*. Got pushed to a point in there where I kinda said “No more — I just can’t…” and sat down. On the floor. And they had to make certain accommodations for me. Could have been a dangerous thing.
Lot easier getting in that motherfucker, than it was getting out. Physically I mean.
I eventually got the fucking message. But the treatment an’ the drinkin’ an’ the smokin’ weed an’ the probation an’ the jail? Ain’t really a part of this particular story. A part of my overall narrative, yeah. And I put it down here for context. It’s a part of my timeline. So then again, maybe it *does* belong here.
At any rate — Message received right?
*So in April of this year…**
I had an incident which is called a **COPD Exacerbation**. I woke up one morning in early to mid April and I couldn’t take a full breath. I mean I can’t get a real deep breath anyway. But this was at yet another level of fuckery.
Tried my inhalers — Multiple times. *Hell, tried my Room-mates inhalers, multiple times. There weren’t the same as mine, but they were a variant on the theme*. I tried a few breathing treatments via the nebulizer I got last year during a different and unrelated hospital visit.
No fucking dice. I finally call my doctor’s office. He’s a relatively new (to me) doctor as I spent some time without any kind of healthcare at all. Once I got back on Health insurance I couldn’t go back to my former doctor…
She had gone to this thing called “Concierge Medicine” which is great for the patients. **That can afford it!**. It costs over and above what your health insurance costs, payable by yearly quarters. And the care is GREAT! If you can afford it. I could not. And still cannot. I lost my doctor of 20 years to **money**. **Concierge Care — A topic for another day**
Anyway he wants me to come in. I was all “Well — What the Fuck?! I’m going to end up in the ER anyway!” You see I already knew this. I was about ready to call 911 for a ride in. Hmmph. So my room mate takes me over there. Okay. This guys office is on at least the second floor and down a long hallway. *I’m using a walker by this point, for fucks sake!*
Side note: I don’t usually use a goddam walker. But the idiots in the fucking county hotel (jail!) gave me one on my last 3 day visit… See above. Again — A story for another time. Context is all, y’all!
So I’m hobbling down the hall with my goddam walker, I’ve had to stop twice to try and catch my *non-existent* breath. The office is full of patients. “This is really stupid” I’m thinking nearly in a panic because I cannot breathe. So I fucking sign in and look around. There is no place to sit. The man’s office is that full. Of sick people.
With my condition I know better than to get close to some one with some sort of respiratory illness. I’ve cracked Ribs coughing from bronchitis. And here I am in a room — FULL OF SICK PEOPLE
We’re there for like 20 minutes. My vision is getting a little black around the edges at this point. Maybe a little fuzzy…
It could have been shorter. It might have been an eternity. I don’t know.
They finally call my <strike>number</strike> name, and I hobble to the back. They have me get on the goddam scale. I probably wheezed something along the lines of, “You have GOT to be fucking kidding me.” Then put me in an exam room. Nurse notices I’m kinda wheezing and might be looking’ a little gray. “Having trouble breathing, are we?” I wheeze something off color and vaguely insulting in her general direction. She takes my blood pressure and does an <strong>O</strong><sub>2</sub> absorption thing with that little sensor on your finger- It’s on my MIDDLE FINGER by the way… “Your BP is a little high,” and she leaves the room. The doctor comes in seconds later followed by the exasperated nurse. And asked some questions. The also continuously take my BP and O2 levels and start me on oxygen and a nebulizer treatment. All the attention helps a little, but.
…Let me tell you, friends and neighbors, it ain’t enough. He leaves the room for a few minutes. “I want you to go to the ER next door” I almost blurt out, “No fucking shit?” But I feel so bad that I just nod in agreement.
He hands me an envelope to give to the triage nurse and tells me that a staffer in the outer office has already called them and told them about me. Room mate bails to go get the car and a I hobble *yes with that goddam walker* back down to the first floor and out the door. I think I had to make four stops on the way back down.
We take the car around the building and go into the entrance to the ER. It seemed (at the time) to be one looooooong fucking walk from the car!
They get all my info, Name, address, insurance info, name of my first born child. And I get into a room in the ER. This is where I first heard the term -
”Exacerbation” — Roughly? It means a ‘Disturbance’.
A Disturbance in the Force. Yeah… your life force…
Forced fluids, Oxygen, blood draws, X-rays, more blood draws — A damned meal for fuck’s sake — more blood draws — even more IV fluids.
And they decide they are gonna keep me over night for observation. And so they move me to the “Observation” part of the ER and bring in a CPAP or maybe a BPAP machine to help me get some sleep. Yeah, I’ve got OSA as well. Obstructive Sleep Apnea. It is likely 3 or 4 before I fall asleep. I’m kinda keyed up after all.
Then the Pulmonary Specialist comes to see me and say they want to keep me to get me stabilized. And they do. For five days. On oxygen most of the time, and they are trying to get me up and down the halls several times a day. Several rounds of antibiotics and myriad rounds of steroids.
A few of my friends come by to see me while I was in there. Thanks for that y’all. There were lots of calls and texts — because that’s how we do these days, I reckon.
I could have died that week. I nearly did actually, that first day. I was kinda panicked and yet a bit calm about it. If it is your time, I guess then it’s your time, eh?
Needless to say, it wasn’t yet my time. I guess I’ve still got things to do.
When I was discharged they had a man meet me at the house with an oxygen concentrator and an oxygen cylinder of small to medium size and a bunch of 3 lb “portable” bottles.
The Concentrator pulls Oxygen out of the very air around you. It is decidedly not a portable thing. About the size of a carry on roll on rig and three times as heavy. You can get one about the size of a small laptop bag but oh man are they expensive. The cylinder sits in a tricycle type rig that you can pull or push around with you. It will likely last a day or two.The portables will fit in a messenger bag and weigh about as much as a laptop. The portables are good for several hours of continuous use. All have regulators set to whatever LPM (That’s Liters Per Minute, you Philistines!) you are assigned. You change them out as needed. They all come with a cannula (tube) that you get delivery from.
I use the <strong>O</strong><sub>2</sub> as needed for now. And it is still more than I like.
Like American Express — I don’t leave home without it. I carry at least one of those portables wherever I go.
It is a very sexy look for a man in his late 50’s. Knocks the fuck right out of whatever vanity a fat old guy has any right to. Shreds it.
And there are other things about COPD that screw with you.
I mean, there’s the whole breathing thing, sure. But things fuck with you more than they used to.
Smoking for instance. Not that I’m doing it, but that you are. Second hand smoke can be a fucking thing for People with COPD. I can deal with some cigarette brands, but cigars? Especially cheap cigars? Get the fuck away from me…
Smoke can be a thing. From a distance. When I took the trash bins down to the curb tonight I could smell smoke in the air. You know, like trash burning smoke. I didn’t hang out long.
Some perfumes and cologne fuck with my lungs now. Getting into an über with guys of a certain ethnic group? They always overdo the goddam spray. Been a time or two I had to stand outside the vehicle for it to dissipate. Or ask the guy to roll down the windows. ALL OF THEM.
Shit with hydrocarbons — Not a complete list by any means. Again — some perfume and cologne. Diesel fuel, Gasoline, really rich car exhaust. Diesel exhaust. Weird shit you wouldn’t even think about normally.
Dust. Ozone becomes a thing to contend with. Varying grades of Particulate Matter; PM1 or PM2 for instance. I don’t even know what the fuck that really is! I can guess…
One of the first things I do in the morning is check the EPA Clean Air Web site. There’s actually an App for that. Put in your Zip Code and POW!
With that fucker Pruitt in the director’s chair at EPA now — Who knows!?
And the thing is, I’m still not sure if it counts as disabled. As in I am now a disabled person? I’ve asked. But maybe I’m not asking the right questions to the right persons. I just don’t know. I guess I’ll figure it all out, eh?
I do know one thing friends and neighbors — COPD Sucks
The life right out of you.
If you read this and you’re still smoking? Please, please stop now. This shit can and could happen to you.
