I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
We would often spend 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 scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, 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 seeming progressively worse.
The Morning Rolled On
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
