I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person gossiping about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed DVT. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
