I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
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, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, 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 Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. 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”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
