I Took 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 bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.