🔗 Share this article I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey. Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years. It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell. As Time Passed The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful. So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room. We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable. Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands. Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”. A Quiet Journey Back After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, 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 experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday? The Aftermath and the Story While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, while that 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 am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.