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I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, 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”.
Clarence Scott
Elara is a passionate esports journalist with over a decade of experience covering major gaming events and trends.
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