I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
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
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday 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, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.
