I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the newest uproar to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, 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
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed 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”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
