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 truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He insisted he was fine 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 failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided 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
By the time we got there, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, 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”.
