🔗 Share this article I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way. He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades. Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell. The Morning Rolled On Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage. Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room. We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day? A Deteriorating Condition By the time we got there, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air 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; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds. Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”. A Quiet Journey Back After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly. The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas? The Aftermath and the Story While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”. If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, 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”.