I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one 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, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.
