I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, 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 fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
