I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, 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 fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
By the time we got there, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.
Upbeat nursing staff, 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
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. 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.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?
The Aftermath and the Story
Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.
