I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, 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 for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine 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.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
