I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved 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 Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, 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”.
