I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning 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 scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer all around, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, 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, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.