I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
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, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed DVT. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
