I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, 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 instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, 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, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
