I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. 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, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK 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.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
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 unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, 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
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
