I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.

We considered summoning an ambulance, 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. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. 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”.

If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.