I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning 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, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
