I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.

Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.

We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Thus, prior to me managing to 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

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.

By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.