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 larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. 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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
