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 figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
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 guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer all around, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year 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”.
