I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy 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 the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine 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 was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday 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 its annual retelling 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”.
