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 truly outsized character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
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 found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, 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”.