I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.
