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I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, 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 – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday 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. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
Rita Davis
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