I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage 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, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, 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
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed 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 great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. 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”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
