I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
