I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
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 tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, 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”.
