🔗 Share this article I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey. This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years. Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky. As Time Passed The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage. Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice 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 Deteriorating Condition When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable. What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables. Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”. A Quiet Journey Back Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game. By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us? Recovery and Retrospection Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.