I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen 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 headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. 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 snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
