I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. 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.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
