I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or entertaining us with stories 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. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that 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 contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
