I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; 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 bustling about 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 Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.