I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent 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 couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, 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 Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. 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”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
