I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – 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 DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
