I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
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 what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
