I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
