I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, 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
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression 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 watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
