I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase 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, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
