I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club 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. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one 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 appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK 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 failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided 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 Worrying Turn
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend 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 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”.
