I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. 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.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, while that 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
