I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning 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 fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, 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 Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
