🔗 Share this article I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way. This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person discussing the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years. Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell. The Morning Rolled On Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed. Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved 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. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable. The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds. Cheerful nurses, 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”. Heading Home for Leftovers Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly. It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday? Healing and Reflection 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 does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”. If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.