I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
