I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He insisted he was fine 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.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. 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 snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, 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, 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”.
