I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day 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 planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.
