I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
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 planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, 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”.
