I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the newest uproar to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, 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 long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year 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”.