I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, 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”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, 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, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
