I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing 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, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer in every direction, 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 certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted 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”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
