I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, 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 Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
