I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright 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.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, 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 Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
