I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
