I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.

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, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

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

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year 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”.