I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Clever and unemotional – 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 amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, 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 couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
