I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved 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 Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
