I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program 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 it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
