I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. 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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer all around, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
