I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts 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 nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, 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 experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
