I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his 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 Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
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 generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.
