Coughing Round the Clock

‘Tis the season to be coughing…

It no longer takes an epidemiologist looking at absenteeism rates in schools to predict the start of influenza season.  For several years now there have been sophisticated models using search engine terms to monitor increasing incidence of febrile cough illness in regions of the world as well as sentinel clinics reporting on influenza-like illnesses.

Or just ask a primary care clinic what its waiting room sounds like these days — a chorus of coughs, high, low, dry, moist, choking, barking, hacking, gagging, wheezing.  In our clinic, every patient is handed a surgical mask at the reception desk, whether coughing or not, with the explanation “for your protection and others’.”   A sea of blue masked faces glances up every time the nurse comes to call a patient back to an exam room.

In reality, it isn’t that clear how effective simple disposable masks are in preventing the spread of viral illness, but they are likely better than using nothing in crowded symptomatic people on public transportation, in a classroom, or a clinic waiting room.  Masks do make it more difficult to touch facial mucus membranes with contaminated hands if you can remember not to rub your eyes.

So we are in the thick of it now, with patient volumes up 30% over the usual load with extra staffing needed to manage the increased phone calls and electronic messaging.   We do rapid flu tests for those patients who fit criteria for Tamiflu treatment, otherwise, we are primarily looking for those at risk for flu complications, all the while trying to make the miserable a little less miserable.  Otherwise the usual self-treatment advice applies, especially stay home, stay home, stay home.

Once the fever and body aches subside,  one little residual symptom is usually left behind: a post-viral cough serves as a humbling reminder of the persistence of influenza inflammation and irritation in the respiratory tract.  Although no longer infectious by ten days after onset of illness, the cough can last up to three weeks or more, no matter what the patient does or takes.  It can be round the clock, interrupting everyone’s sleep from a constant tickling pressure in the trachea and a sensation of heaviness in the chest.   Although this cough is unlikely a risk to spread infection to others, it certainly sounds to others like a potential threat, so wearing a mask is advised as a courtesy and a reminder to protect others at all costs.

Has modern medicine found an answer to the plague of post-viral cough, other than preventing the whole illness to begin with by vaccinating for influenza?  Dropping out of polite society for three weeks isn’t possible for most people. Post-influenza patients must allow their bodies time to heal from a major insult that required a significant immune system response but most of us do need to get back to work and school.

What’s a doctor to do?

Antibiotics certainly aren’t the solution and never have been, but historically they (and a narcotic cough suppressant) were the easiest prescription for physicians to write for a tired and frustrated patient.  The aisle in local pharmacies for “Cold/Flu Remedies” seems to lengthen annually with new combination over-the-counter products.  Heavily marketed items vanish quickly off the shelves as people search in vain for relief.   Every imaginable combination of menthol, eucalyptus, and honey-lemon has been tried and tried again.   Probably chicken soup is still just as effective as anything else.

This is a time for tried and true wisdom:  this too shall pass.

Just please don’t pass it to others.

Don’t Wanna Hold Your Hand

NYT_ILLO_RISK_590
Ross MacDonald illustration for the New York Times

Suffice to say, I’m not germ phobic.  If I were, I wouldn’t live on a farm handling manure everyday, and I wouldn’t work as a health care provider in the “culture media” otherwise referred to as a university student health center.  I’ve learned to live in harmony with all the pathogens I come in contact with, and, for the most part, we leave each other alone.

Yet there comes a time (and this is it!) when a little paranoia about viruses is warranted.  This current early influenza season has the potential to be a real humdinger because the virus people are passing between them is unfamiliar to the majority of the younger (under age 50) population, so their immune systems are not readily primed for the antibody fight.  So there may be good reason for social rituals to adapt to protect the unprotected.

There is reasonable evidence that H1N1 influenza really takes hold in environments where people are doing a great deal of “meet and greet” activities, such as sorority and fraternity “rush” week at universities.  That means that hand shakes and hugs, or the seemingly benign cheek kiss, confer more than good will.  They become the vectors of a viral gift, ready to transfer to our mucus membranes with an innocent rub of an itchy eye, or licking of our lips after touching the outside of our mouths, or running the back of our hand across our noses.

In other words, we inadvertently share and receive more than we intend with a simple greeting ritual.  This becomes important during a time when potentially fatal viruses are circulating widely, especially as a certain percentage of the population will tend to be “carriers” without having obvious symptoms,  effectively becoming unwitting transmitters.

So this fall, the time has come to stop greeting with hand shakes, particularly in “high volume” situations like political rallies, wedding and funeral receptions, church lobbies and school orientation activities.  The options to replace the hand shake are plenty, but ideally should minimize physical contact.   I prefer a simple nod, leaning forward, hands behind my back, and actually using my vocal cords to do the work:  “good to see you”  or some other gracious few words.

I’m not being unfriendly, nor am I rebuffing your friendly extended hand.  I just don’t want to share what I may have just been exposed to a few minutes earlier without having had a chance to adequately wash my hands, as I would if I were working in the barn or the clinic.  Just like the classic classroom exercise illustrating how many sexual partners you exponentially end up with when you consider all the partners of the partner’s partners, etc. —when you shake my hand, you are shaking the hand of everyone I’ve touched since the last time I washed my hands.  In certain social situations, that can be an overwhelming number of contacts.  So let’s just take handshaking out of the equation and make it a little tougher for this virus to find its way from me to you.

So it’s good to see you looking so well. And I really want you to stay that way.