I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club for forty years.
Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The Day Progressed
The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?
A Worrying Turn
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 filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.
Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.
By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.
