I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one chatting about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share 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 fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas 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 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”.
