I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, 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 sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, 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 unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, 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, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.