I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.

This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, 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. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

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

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, 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”.