I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the newest uproar to involve a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning 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 scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
