I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life character. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal 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.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet 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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed DVT. And, while that Christmas 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 involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
