I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted 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”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
