I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning 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 peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, 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?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history 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 definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
