I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.

He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one 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 fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice 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

By the time we got there, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, 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.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

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

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, 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, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year 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”.