Archive for the 'asthma' Category

An asthmatic sends a postcard come

Went on holiday, weather was awful, nearly died.

It is a paradox universally acknowledged that every year when I leave polluted London for the fresh, sea air of West Cornwall, my asthma always gets worse. Don't Worry, Be Hippy I don’t know if it’s damp or dust or dander in the chalet where we stay, but it’s always prudent for me to pack a few extra inhalers.

This year, though, it wasn’t enough and out of the blue one evening I had the worst asthma attack of my life - I even said (croaked) at one point “this is it, I’m going to die”.

I probably can’t have been that close to death (though it bloody well felt like it at the time) as I was not guided to any lights, my life failed to flash before me - though the last few pictures on my Flickr photostream did. I remember wondering if I really wanted to be remembered by a photo of the back of a VW camper van bearing the slogan “don’t worry, be hippy”.

Rural health services are often denigrated - indeed it took (what seemed to me) a small eternity for the ambulance to arrive, but then I was staying somewhere fairly remote in the sand dunes which is hard enough to find in the day, let alone at midnight in an area with no street lights.

I do have a lot of time for our local Big London Teaching Hospital - they saved my eldest son’s life and my wife’s life twice. But if you have to spend any of your holiday in hospital, West Cornwall Hospital in Penzance does seem like a particularly nice place to do it. Everyone was incredibly friendly, the place seemed to be awash with doctors and nurses. When I’ve visited our London hospital it seems like you can go all day without seeing a doctor of any kind and hours without seeing a nurse, but in Penzance the ward round was a friendly, ambling affair and medical staff were in and out of the ward all morning. DSC_3364.JPG It may be standard practice in the NHS now, but it was scrupulously clean - in the morning they pulled my bed out to clean behind it and even cleaned the bed itself (with me in it). Even the food was pretty good - I can recommend the chicken and leak pie, by the way - even if the wine list left a lot to be desired.

I woke up this morning - too early but alive, chest clear, back in my chalet bed. And as I type this, the wind has dropped, the sun is rising, the sky is blue - and there is an improbable-looking half rainbow out at sea. You probably can’t ask for more than that.

Copyrights and wrongs

offending shirtI’m having an odd argument with Spreadshirt, the normally excellent T-shirt company. I have a Spreadshirt shop - it’s a pretty easy way of making a little bit of money from designing logos and artwork.

But now they’ve pulled one of my designs for ‘copyright infringement’ and I can’t work out why. Salbutamol isn’t a trademark, it’s the generic name for a drug marketed under many names such as Ventolin. The artwork was all mine, I didn’t pinch anything from anywhere. I agree it’s meant to look like packaging used for prescription medicine, but it’s not a copy. I’ve asked for clarification and they just keep repeating that I’m infringing copyright. Very odd. And a little stressful. Where’s my inhaler..?

Asthma Poet

I was going to write about asthma, but then realised that someone’s been there already and he can’t be beat.

For me, the poet of asthma is not Proust, it is not even Fedinand Mount.

It’s Bruce Robinson, in the introduction to the screenplay for the film he his famous for writing and directing:

Asthma struck in the middle of the night outside a little tin-roofed town called Macksville. A dash to the rusting hospital where they shoved me on a device to measure my air intake. The average breather hits around four hundred. I was coming up fourty-eight. Apparently a prospective corpse can produce about twenty-five with the fucking death rattle. Oxygen on and in go the needles, the latter featuring pure pharmaceutical adrenalin. Suddenly one’s heart is converted into a small diesel engine that could get a motorbike up a street at about fifty.

So there you are, the author of Withnail and I is the asthma poet. But not the ‘tomato poet’ which is the way to remember how to spell ‘onomatopoeia’.

…made me smile

I’ve been slightly delirious since my visit to the hospital this morning, and lots of small things have made me giggle. Best was on the way home this evening… an Evening Standard placard reading:

DEADLY SKUNK FLOODS LONDON.

It really did conjure up an image of a giant stripy, smelly animal whizzing all over London Town, before the penny dropped and I realised what they were on about.

Colour me wheezy

garish tabletsI’m the lucky winner of asthma, and a chest infection has pushed it to a slightly scary place. So I’m currently on a short course of antibiotics and steroid tablets.

I made the serious error of reading the information leaflets for contents and side-effects. Just reading the possible side effects of prednisolone alone is enough to make you feel ill, even if you weren’t before: puffy swollen face, trouble sleeping, sore throat, pains, bruising, abdominal pain, headache, water retention, signs of diabetes…

But what really bothers me is that both these drugs contain artificial food colourings - my steroid tablets contain Ponceau 4R and Sunset Yellow which, in a nice irony, can cause asthma, the very thing I’m being given them to treat! The amoxicillin meanwhile is a technicolor cocktail of Sunset Yellow, Carmoisine, Brilliant Blue (brilliant!), Quinoline Yellow and Titanium Dioxide…

Why are they so garishly and artificially coloured? It’s not as if I had any choice and would have shunned dull-looking capsules for something funky.

Ah, they come for the amoxicillin, but they stay for the Methyl Parahydroxybenzoate (E218)!