I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to catch up with a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to 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 long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore 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 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”.
