What's wrong with this picture?

Wheezing and trying to hold onto valuable strands of oxygen, I walk into an emergency room hoping to increase my air intake. Now, if you knew me, you'd know that this, in itself, is a test in courage...okay the truth, it's completely unavoidable for me since I couldn't breathe properly. I am a germaphobe. Hospitals and me don't go well together. Panic sets in, I scan the waiting area like the "Terminator" and proceed cautiously where I may be lead with the apprehension of someone destined for the guillotine. I touch nothing, lean against nothing and suffer through blood pressure meters chanting mantras in my head.
The thing about asthmatics is fighting to breathe is considered reason good enough to be rushed in immediately into any available bed for quick attention. So there I am, sitting on a gurney, again scanning for any visible signs of acrobatic microscopic enemy warriors laying in wait for my arrival. Yeah, I know, how could I possibly detect such intruders...I look for unavoidable signs...dust, spills, tissues or gauzes not completely disposed off, trays that don't shine bright enough. I have come to the conclusion that I enter their territory and all I can do is remove myself as soon as humanly possible. Which is why I have refused admittance into hospital facilities quicker than they can finish their diagnosis.
However, this time around, and trust me I do not make it a habit of frequenting these establishment, I was well enough to receive a nebulizer treatment (as opposed to getting shot up with adrenaline...boy that's a totally different story). "Okay, good," I whisper to myself, "Out of here soon." And here comes Chad, treatment provider, packaged accessories and medicine in hand. He proceeds to lean into me with a practiced sense of accomplishment at his job. I, of course, lean away looking for personal air space, but not soon enough. The smell of cigarettes overwhelmed me...it was his breath, his unusually shiny ringlets draping his face, his clothes; his entire persona oozed smoke! My hand involuntarily came up to my face, protecting my lungs from further assault. It should be a law that if you are in the business of coming in contact with people whose lives depend on being administer oxygen, breathing treatments or the like, they should have to change into protective gear, wear masks or be vacuumed, hosed down...well you get my drift.
I'm still wheezing, my chest burns every time I cough but I've decided that the only way I will go back is with my own mask, rubber gloves and with the recently acquired skill of administering breathing treatments as per the state of Florida...I love internet resources.