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 bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, 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. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
