I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.

Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

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 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 get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

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

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft 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 it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, even if that particular 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 hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.