I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, 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”.
