I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
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 tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas 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 contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
