I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, 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. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
