I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.

He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK 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 was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that 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 involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.