I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
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
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.
