I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day 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 tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar 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 watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.