I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he is the person gossiping about the newest uproar to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved 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 Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.
