I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
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 scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice 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 had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. 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”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year 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”.
