I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit all around, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?
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 is not my most cherished memory, 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. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
