I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so peculiar 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 saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, 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 couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
