I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. 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.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
