I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, 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. Consequently, he ended up 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 like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
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 Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas 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 certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
