I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
We would often spend 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 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. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. 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”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
