I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, 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 what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, despite the underlying 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 bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, 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. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
