I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and he went 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 an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming 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 couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred 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 headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, 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”.
