I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. 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, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. 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 its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
