I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. 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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
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 considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, 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”.