I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
