I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person discussing the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 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. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold 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”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – 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 DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
