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 truly outsized personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore 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 its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
