I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, 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”.
