I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, 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
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas 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 couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.