I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.

He has always been a man of a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

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

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, 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. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.