I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about 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 chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday 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 contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.
