I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
