I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright 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 failed.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, 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 – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
