I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share 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 planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, 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
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides 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.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.
