I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. 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 did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles 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 lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history 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”.
