I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture 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”.
Whether that’s strictly true, 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”.
