I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.

It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.

Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

Recovery and Retrospection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, 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”.