I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. 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 befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, 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 – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
