I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Rapid Decline
By the time we got there, 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 permeated the space.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.
Cheerful nurses, 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 headed home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
