I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
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 scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
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. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.