I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
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 endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; 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 lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
