I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK 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 placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snowing, 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, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, 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 its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.