I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. 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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed DVT. And, while that Christmas 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 contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
