I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one 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 fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft 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 it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
