I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
