I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, 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 broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright 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 did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even 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 how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. 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.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted 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”.
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 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”.
