I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, 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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.
