I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering 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, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. 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. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.