I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped 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, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.
