I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend 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 has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.