I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, 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 told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas 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, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
