I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, 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 unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas 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 contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, 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”.
