I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person discussing the newest uproar to involve 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. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, 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 unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, 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 having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted 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 involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.