I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him 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
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, 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 get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; 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 unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
