I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way.

He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

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 tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, 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 take him to A&E.

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

A Worrying Turn

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.