I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.
He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular 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, a suitcase gripped 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, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
The Morning Rolled On
The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided 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 Rapid Decline
When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; 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 great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides 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.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.
