I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
