I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up 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 in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, 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 having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted 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 the story’s yearly repetition 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”.