I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine 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 did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit all around, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
