I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.