I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players 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. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke 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 seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
