I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
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
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year 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”.
