I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person chatting about the newest uproar to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. 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, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
