I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, 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 later developed 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”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
