I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. 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”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
