I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, we resolved 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, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, while that 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
