I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. 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 mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
