I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, 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 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 poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, 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”.
