I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. 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.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved 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 Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year 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”.
