I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK 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 put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.