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

He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the holiday morning 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, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

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

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

A Deteriorating Condition

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured 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”.

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”.