I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. 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 put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, 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”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.
