I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
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 unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, 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 regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. 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”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, 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”.
