I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase 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, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming like they normally did. 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, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily 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 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 a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
