I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright 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.
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 long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce 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.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
