I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
We would often spend the holiday 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 tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one 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, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. 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”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
