I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming 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 found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured 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”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.
