I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Recovery and Retrospection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore 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 hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
