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Beware A&E at Christmas Britain's party season is taking its toll

Now is not the time to get sick. Buda Mendes/Getty Images

Now is not the time to get sick. Buda Mendes/Getty Images


December 24, 2024   4 mins

For most people, the festive period conjures up images of twinkling lights, family gatherings, and the warm fuzzy glow of over-indulgence. For the doctors and nurses on my A&E ward, it presents a rather different reality: one defined by constant fatigue, poignant tragedy and, on one occasion, a patient who decided to stick a jar of Marmite up his anus.

The chaos begins at the start of December, as Britain’s party season swiftly takes its toll. And as a physician, it’s the time of the year that I really feel like I’ve earned my stripes. Christmas is tough on the public and staff alike and my A&E will be an absolute fairground of drunken activity. Alcohol-related admissions rocket. I remember one year treating a rather self-important, high-profile barrister who arrived intoxicated and belligerent, treating us with the same contempt he might reserve for his opposing counsel. Fortunately (or not, as it would soon transpire), that quickly changed when, slouching in a three-piece chalk stripe suit, his nostrils enjoying a “white Christmas” of their own, his bowels got the better of him. A&E has a habit of being a great leveller.

Over the festive season, however, it also has a habit of witnessing Christmas in its cruellest incarnations. As any paramedic will tell you, alcohol consumption makes the roads increasingly treacherous; what’s often forgotten is that it can make life at home more dangerous too. According to police data, domestic violence incidents surge during the Christmas period. And frequently that spills over into A&E. Last year, on Boxing Day, a woman presented on our ward with a broken nose and an indentation in her cheek that bore a striking resemblance to a large signet ring.

It’s not just alcohol abuse that takes hold over Christmas; the grim consequences of drug-taking — from cocaine-fuelled acts of violence to accidental and intended overdoses — also increases. One of the worst cases I’ve ever seen took place a few years ago, when a heroin-addicted couple brought their baby into A&E just before Christmas. They were beside themselves with anguish. After injecting themselves the night before, they had come around to find their child rigid, cold and lifeless. An examination revealed that the baby, only a few months old, had choked on his own vomit. The parents could hardly speak; my colleagues and I ended our shifts numb. Nobody felt festive that year.

More often than not, it’s Christmas Day itself when the true essence of emergency medicine reveals itself. The patients who come in on the 25th generally need to be there. And treating their conditions is not for the faint-hearted. I’ve seen everything from massive heart attacks to brain haemorrhages — often in patients who’ve been putting off symptoms for days because they didn’t want to “spoil” the family’s Christmas until it’s too late.

I’ve also seen those who succumb to the rituals of Christmas itself. Burns from hot fat or blistering pans and falls from step ladders while hanging decorations are par for the course, as are small children swallowing Lego bricks. Some years ago, I had a patient who, while preparing the family turkey in flip-flops, slipped on her kitchen floor and sustained a severe ankle fracture. The result: six days in hospital waiting for the swelling to subside before surgery.

“Burns from hot fat or blistering pans and falls from step ladders while hanging decorations are par for the course, as are small children swallowing Lego bricks.”

Away from the mundane, Christmas Day is also when we witness the most poignant festive phenomenon — a practice so common it has its own unofficial medical and sociological terminology: “Granny dumping”. I saw it first-hand a few years ago, when the treatment of two elderly women in adjacent beds told very different stories about family and festive priorities.

The first patient was surrounded by her grandchildren, from a nearby council estate, who were eager to take her home for Christmas dinner. Despite their limited means, there was warmth and genuine care. In the next bed lay a woman from a wealthier area, whose well-heeled daughters adamantly refused to take her home, despite her being medically fit for discharge. The contrast in the patients’ expressions said everything — one beaming with pride, the other bearing the weight of shame and rejection at her adult children’s callousness.

Boxing Day, meanwhile, brings its own unique challenges. While Christmas Day typically sees genuine emergencies, the following day is marked by a host of “celebrations gone wrong” — from gastroenteritis due to poorly stored leftovers to respiratory problems from overindulgence. By the time New Year’s Eve comes around, we often start to wonder if there’s anyone in the community we haven’t seen.

Yet amid the chaos, there are moments of profound meaning on the ward over Christmas. Once, I dealt with a young man who was brought in after an assault on Boxing Day. He had suffered a catastrophic brain haemorrhage due to a severe isolated head injury, and died some days later. In this darkest of moments, the coroner made special arrangements to allow organ donation below the neck — ensuring that while one family’s Christmas was forever marked by loss, others received the gift of life. On the ward, whether or not you’re a believer, that is how the spirit of Christmas often becomes clear: those moments when you’re faced with the fragility and generosity of the human condition, when you can’t help but ruminate on the meaning of life in all its weird and wonderful ways.

For those who choose to work these challenging shifts, yes, there’s an element of sacrifice. But this sacrifice isn’t a burden. It’s a privilege, even if it means getting up at 3am on Christmas morning and putting in a 14-hour shift. Once you arrive on the ward, bleary-eyed and longing for home, you swiftly discover that Christmas in A&E serves as a microcosm of life itself — joy and tragedy, hope and despair, all playing out against a backdrop of tinsel and trauma.


Dr Emma Jones is an A&E consultant based in the Midlands.


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Peter B
Peter B
5 hours ago

An interesting article that I enjoyed reading (perhaps because mercifully free of the usual campaigning).
But stepping back, what strikes me is that almost all (perhaps all) the cases cited were the result of human stupidity and irresponsibility. And often the direct result of criminal activity (drug abuse, violent assaults). Dr. Jones seems happy here to accept that it is the responsibility of the NHS to clear up any and all mess here. I just wonder if that is really what the founders of the NHS intended. Or how long as a country we can encourage and subsidise such irresponsible behaviour when we’re constantly told that the NHS is overloaded.
Doubtless an un-Christian and unseasonal message, but questions I think that need to be asked.

Citizen Diversity
Citizen Diversity
5 hours ago
Reply to  Peter B

As Someone once said, the sick need a physician.

j watson
j watson
4 hours ago
Reply to  Peter B

It’s a daily thought all front-line staff have…’if only’ etc. It wasn’t what was intended either. But when one gets into judgments on ‘deserts’ it’s not quite as straightforward – is the car accident through poor driving as bad as an alcohol related illness, or a skiing accident more than some sexual transmission? The load on the system may be the same.
And collecting money from the alcoholic in an A&E not straightforward if we were to make such judgments and insist some monetary contribution for one’s own stupidity needed. Nonetheless one would welcome a greater debate about the responsibilities that go with rights so long as it could be conducted in a productive way.

Tony Price
Tony Price
3 hours ago
Reply to  Peter B

If only everyone could be as perfect as you so obviously are – wouldn’t that be lovely!

Philip Stott
Philip Stott
12 hours ago

What an odd article.
The author seems surprised at encountering the ailments that even a lay person might expect to present at an Xmas A&E (and double points for the Marmite anecdote).
My anesthetist mate says pretty much every doctor has encountered a patient with a foreign object in their bum, way before consultant stage.
This author has history of moaning, without suggesting any reasonable alternatives.

Last edited 12 hours ago by Philip Stott
Lancashire Lad
Lancashire Lad
11 hours ago
Reply to  Philip Stott

With it being the season of goodwill, i’ll give her credit for completing an article without making some banal political point.

It was mildly entertaining, even if those of us who’ve worked in the NHS just roll our eyes at this kind of thing.

RR RR
RR RR
5 hours ago
Reply to  Lancashire Lad

I envisage an alternative article in The Guardian article based on A&E at Christmas. In Guardianland the lack of self awareness and irony
‘Since Brexit A&E admissions on Christmas Day have soared as imports of good quality French wine and German beer have dropped to be replaced by cheaper lower quality imports….’

j watson
j watson
4 hours ago
Reply to  RR RR

Not quite but close – try this – ‘since Brexit A&Es have been more short staffed and the cost of sorting Visa’s for staff coming from further afield to plug critical gaps time consuming and costly. In addition something psychological seems to have happened post referendum and some of the populace think it’s more acceptable to abuse staff, especially if they aren’t white’.

Paul Airey
Paul Airey
4 hours ago
Reply to  Philip Stott

Usual winging drivel from this tiresome PoS

j watson
j watson
7 hours ago

The Author in sharing her experience over this period didn’t make any overt political or policy points, but would be rude if I didn’t.
What she described was of course fairly standard and nothing unique for anyone close to the Service. The ‘Granny dumping’ (hate that phrase but…) is an increasing issue and of course compounded by an aging population. It then gets worse over the coming couple of weeks as Social services and other support close down for the festive season and discharge is further delayed whilst an assessment backlog accumulates. Usually by first and second week of Jan the vast majority of UK hospitals will be at major incident status with gridlocked throughput (if they weren’t already). More recently the usual January gridlock has become the normalised at other periods too and is a fundamental productivity blocker in the NHS.
And here’s another point – despite this the staff and the service will get to you. They won’t check your insurance details, and later you won’t find there was small-print that meant you’ve a big bill coming.
And just to cheer the cognescenti the alcohol misuse that plagues A&E and our healthcare system is not immigrants, and certainly not Muslim brothers and sisters. It’s us.

Gordon Black
Gordon Black
8 hours ago

I’ve worked in mountain rescue and in a war: I could write about tragedy and gallows humour, but it would only be about mountain rescue stuff and war stuff … boring.

j watson
j watson
4 hours ago
Reply to  Gordon Black

The difference, and I was 22yrs RN, is mountain rescue and war are rare experiences for an individual. What the Author describes is fairly standard every day occurrences in an ED. That said that’s in large part why you are drawn to working there.