I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.
We would often spend Christmas morning 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 fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere 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.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling 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”.
