I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person chatting about the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
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
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, 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 later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, 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”.
