I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide 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 holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.