I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
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 couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning 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. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, 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 am not in a position to judge, 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”.
