I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning 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, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
