I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent 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 found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer 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.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, 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 am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
