I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.

He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

Time passed, yet the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

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

Heading Home for Leftovers

After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

By then it was quite late, 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 truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore 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”.