I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.

This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

We would often spend the holiday morning 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 broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.

Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore 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 its annual retelling 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”.