I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
It was common for us to pass 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 tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken 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.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, 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 Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
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 become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
