I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

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

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.