I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.

This individual has long been known as a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one 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, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

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

A Rapid Decline

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 distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, 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?

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling 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”.