I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
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 supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft 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 snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, 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”.
