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

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed 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 the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.