I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved 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
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, 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 certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, even if that particular 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 involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.