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 truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
