I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. 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 in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?
Healing and Reflection
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
