This post has me divided. I am about to write something boringly long-winded; maybe it's cathartic for me to do so.
People smoking around a hospital are likely going through intense periods of stress, illness or trauma. Whether that be themselves or witnessing a loved one suffering. It is not a time when giving up their addiction can be addressed, any efforts to do so will be completely ignored. At best, a hospital could provide a smoking area as far away from any entrance doors as possible. Surely a fire escape somewhere could be repurposed? The hospital I refer to throughout this thread does not have any permitted smoking areas.
I've smoked for 40 years, having grown up in a smoking household in the 70's. For as long as it's been drummed into our population that smoking really is bad for you, I've never given up. I've known for years that I should, but on a deeper level, I just haven't wanted to.
To you, as a non-smoker, it's a filthy habit that is causing harm to not only the consumer, but potentially to you as well. To me, it's an enjoyable experience. It actually tastes AND smells nice to me. And something that tastes and feels so pleasurable surely can't be as bad for you as they say? Having smoked for so long, it's just a part of me and who I am. I listen and hear all the warnings about the harm it does to people, but it doesn't register because the part of me that is riddled with nicotine addiction is really, really good at ignoring it - and it doesn't apply to me. I hate to concede and say that nicotine addiction is as powerful as any other, but I know it is, as I can't ever imagine being able to do even start doing it, let alone succeed.
I have had some dark, dark periods in my life and endured some tragic events, unfortunately, more so than the average person might have experienced. No excuses, but there was never a question of me giving up smoking. Some days, sitting outdoors by myself with only a cigarette for company, was the only good thing that happened during the day. A lot of this took place in hospital grounds, because that's where some of the traumatic events were unfolding. Some were before the days that smoking was 'banned' from hospital grounds, some have taken place during. It made no difference to me, I was always going to smoke because I had to, it was 'part of who I am' after all. The cost of smoking became an issue, there were lots of things I couldn't afford, but I could also afford tobacco.
Eighteen months ago, a niggly irritation with my health turned into a gigantic life and limb-threatening problem. I was admitted to hospital and treated for sepsis. As soon as I could sit in a wheelchair, I was off outside at every opportunity for a cigarette. The threat of losing a limb terrified me, so my need for cigarettes was stronger than ever. The hospital doesn't have a smoking area but it does have plenty of large signs advising it is against the law to smoke anywhere in the grounds. Most patients/visitors lean against these signs to smoke. This being 2023 smokers were by then regarded as dangerous as lepers and subjected to looks varying from disdainful glances to abject disgust. For all I love smoking, I also love to be loved, so I would try to hide myself away from the main entrance where I wouldn't be subjected to the death stares. I may smoke, but that doesn't mean I'm devoid of feelings - I do know that people would see me smoking outside a hospital in my pyjamas and dressing gown and think 'she's the one costing the NHS unnecessary money' or 'she's blocking a bed all because she's a smoker', or 'she's put herself in here' (that one was likely true).
I was told by my consultant that smoking was singularly the biggest cause of my diagnosed arterial disease and gangrenous limb. Major surgery was the only chance of my limb being saved, but it may not be successful. I was scheduled for surgery as soon as the sepsis was clear. When my DH came to visit that afternoon, my consultant and I told him the prognosis and I quietly handed him my cigarettes and lighter and instructed him to throw them away on the way out.
A year and a half has passed and I still have the salvaged limb, but I've continue to have problems with it. The team treating me at hospital are amazing and they keep fighting to save the limb. I have to accept that it's a battle we may lose eventually, and I acknowledge almost daily that this is probably no more than I deserve.
The most important milestone in my opinion though, is that I haven't so much as looked at a cigarette since that day. I am now 'on the other team' and am one of the hundreds of people who have to regularly walk through that fug of smoke at the hospital entrance. I sometimes think 'oh give us a sneaky puff', but mostly I think how glad I am that I valued my life enough to make that giant leap. It was ridiculously easy to give up in the end. But I'm not sure I ever would have done without that huge fright. Of course, if I had my time all over, I wouldn't ever touch a cigarette - who would, really? But I don't beat myself up over all those years of smoking, it really is an addiction. And like most addictions, it makes the user ignorant beyond recognition.
I don't feel anger and disgust when I pass that person 'with no teeth and tattoos' smoking outside the hospital. I feel sorry that they have no incentive to turn their life around. One thing is almost certain, you won't see those people there indefinitely. You nearly didn't see me for too much longer, after all.