I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
It was common for us to pass 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 supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him 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
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address 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, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
