I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided 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
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, 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 truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
