I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, 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 sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.
