I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, 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 fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. 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 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
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
