I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share 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 tumbled down the staircase, 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 Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
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 distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.
