I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK 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 was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
