I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. 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, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. 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, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, although that holiday 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 involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
