I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs 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, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
