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I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
Ashley Carter
Elara is a seasoned writer and digital nomad who shares her adventures and expertise in lifestyle and technology.
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