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 figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, 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”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend 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 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”.