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

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. At family parties, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit all around, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

The Aftermath and the Story

Although our friend eventually recovered, 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”.

How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year 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”.