I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to barely responsive on the way.

He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

It was common for us to pass 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 planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

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

Recovery and Retrospection

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

Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.