I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, 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”.
