I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright 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 failed.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. 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 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 made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, 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?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
