I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
