I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, 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 certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.