Thursday 4th April 1991   Morning surgery 09:00

“Well, this is how it usually starts, Mr Evans. A smoker’s cough. Bronchitis once or twice a year. You have probably noticed that you are slightly out of breath walking to the Newsagent’s in the morning. Of course, as you point out, your difficulty breathing could be due to your age or a general lack of fitness. Perhaps it’s because you are a little overweight. Those chest infections are nothing that a quick course of antibiotics won’t sort out and who doesn’t, at some stage, get a cough that goes on for months and months . . . and months?”
Eifion Evans raised his eyebrows. He didn’t say anything.
“I am aware that you would rather not have a breathing test,” My Dad continued. “What’s the point? What’s it going to tell us that we don’t already know? You certainly wouldn’t want an inhaler. We all know where that could lead! You agree that it would be better to stop smoking but, funnily enough, a cigarette seems to help that cough.”
“Alright, Dr Dennis,” Eifion Evans looked at Dilys, Dylan and myself with an expression of resignation. “I will have a breathing test if you really think it will help. I just didn’t want to end up like my brother, that’s all.”

Chronic bronchitis.
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