I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed 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”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.