I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year 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”.
