I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. 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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
