I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one discussing the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. 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 humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore 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 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”.
