I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
We would often spend 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 scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
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, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history 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 done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.