I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
