I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
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, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday 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, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
