I Drove 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 bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, 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. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to lukewarm condiments 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.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
