Stephen Lewis meets Vicky Bettany, a young cystic fibrosis sufferer, who's raising cash to help others with her condition.

'If I had a coughing fit," says Vicky Bettany, sitting on the bed in her room at York District Hospital, "you'd be horrified." Her lips twist in a mischievous grin, and it's obvious the thought of our panic if she had an attack amuses her.

"It can be quite embarrassing," she admits. "People tend to dash around getting me water, which just makes me sick. Or if I'm out in public they will say 'are you all right, love?' or pat you on the back, which just makes you cough more.

"Once I was out in the Dales with my gran and I had a coughing fit. My gran just sat there with me, watching the scenery. Someone came up and accused my gran of being uncaring. Of course she's not. She just knows."

Vicky is one of about 20,000 people in the UK who have cystic fibrosis. It's a genetically-inherited condition which causes the body to produce an extremely thick, sticky mucus that constantly clogs up the lungs and digestive system, making it difficult to breathe and digest food.

Victims suffer frequent coughing fits, wheezing, breathlessness and chest infections such as pneumonia. They also, like Vicky, tend to be thin: because, no matter how big their appetite, they can't really use the food they eat. Most of it goes straight through.

There is so far no cure for cystic fibrosis. Treatments are improving and life expectancy increasing: but it is a condition that gets worse as you get older.

Vicky, now 24, was diagnosed as a baby.

"It is a critical disease," she says, matter-of-factly. "When I was born, and they found out what was wrong with me, they gave me a couple of years to live.

"When I was ten I was told I would probably make it to my teens. As a teenager, I was told I would make it to 20. There are a couple of people being treated here who are in their 30s."

She does, she admits, sometimes get frightened when she thinks about the future. "But it's a way of life to me. I've never known anything different."

What Vicky has known is a constant daily regime of pills, pills and more pills: antibiotics to help fight infections, enzymes to help her digest food, even vitamins because her ailing digestive system means she can't get the vitamins she needs out of ordinary food.

She also needs to have a nebuliser - a kind of inhaler which sprays drugs directly into the lungs to fight infection and help her breathe more easily - constantly at hand, using it four times a day.

Then there are her regular visits to hospital, to check her drugs are still working and that she's getting the right amount of vitamins. It's like having a service on a car, she says.

Vicky first began having to visit hospital when she was eight or nine. Her friends from Derwent Junior School thought it was great fun.

"When you're a kid, everybody's running around and playing. Some get tired, others don't, but if you do get tired, nobody really notices.

"Then when I was eight or nine, I started coming in to hospital. My friends thought it was great, they loved to come and look after me."

Gradually, though, her circle of friends grew smaller. "When you're 18 or 19 you want to go out and have fun. You don't want to be held back all the time."

In her teens she herself rebelled against her condition: stopped taking her tablets, went out drinking with friends. "Teenagers do rebel," she said. "Some stay out late to annoy their parents. I stopped taking my tablets." Her health quickly suffered, though, and it was back to her controlled regime.

Now she's happy just to be able to live on her own. She has a place off Nunnery Lane which she says is a 'godsend'. She admits she's a single girl, and says she's never thought of starting a family.

"My consultant said if I ever wanted children it would put a great strain on my heart and lungs. There are some sufferers who do have children, but I'm not particularly child oriented. I'm a single girl and happy that way. It is much easier."

What she does do, when she's feeling well enough, is help raise money for the Cystic Fibrosis Trust, a charity which funds research into a cure.

Together with some friends from the Waggon and Horses in Lawrence Street, she's arranging an 'auction night' at the pub to raise money to buy some new nebulisers for children at the YDH.

She firmly believes that eventually a cure for the condition will be found - though whether it will be in time for her she doesn't know.

"Every time you come into hospital you have to re-adjust," she said. "You know you're there for a reason.

"This time there was a nurse who asked me if I did become seriously ill, would I want ventilating and taking down to intensive care, or would I want to be left in this room to die. I'm thinking about it at the moment, what my options are. You have to think about the quality of your life. You can go out, live it up, not take the tablets. But then you'll have to pay for it. Or you can live sensibly, not go out every night of the week, take your tablets, not go on holiday."

She pauses for a moment. "Some days you think 'What the hell? I'm not bothered any more'. But you've got to keep positive. It's a disease that you're reasonably in control of. It is not going to kill me straight away. There is still no cure, but they keep bringing new things out all the time.

"I've just got to keep my fingers crossed. They will bring out a cure one day."