I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity 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. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
