I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved 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 Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, 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 experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. 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”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
