I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. 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, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.

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

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide 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 in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?

The Aftermath and the Story

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.