I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. 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. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; 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 get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, 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 hospital food and wind filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
