I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday 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 involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
