I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
The Day Progressed
Time passed, yet 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 found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Recovery and Retrospection
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, 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. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
