I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
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
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
