I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, 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 feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, 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 am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.