I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.
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 appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year 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”.
