I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink 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 looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice 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 Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, 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 am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
