I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, 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 peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
