I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. 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 did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. 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”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
