I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.
Our family friend has always been a truly outsized figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the stories were not coming as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
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 poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands 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 moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.
A Subdued Return Home
When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.
It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?
The Aftermath and the Story
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend 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 the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
