I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
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 characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year 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”.
