I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, 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 his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive 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 moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
