I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily 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 festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
