I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.