I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce 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 it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular 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 contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.
