I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, 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 am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
