I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke 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 seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; 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 charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
