I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly 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 snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, 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 entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.