🔗 Share this article I Took a Family Friend 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. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years. Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, 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 broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse. As Time Passed Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed. Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E. The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable. Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds. Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”. A Quiet Journey Back Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game. The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us? Healing and Reflection Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”. Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.