I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
