I Drove a Family Friend 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 figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, 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 Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore 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 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”.
