I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday 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 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. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
