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

Our family friend has always been a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. 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.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling 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”.