I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
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, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
