I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.

This individual has long been known as a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to involve a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

It was common for us to pass the holiday 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, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase 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, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment 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 charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas 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, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.