I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, 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 actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, 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”.