I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.

Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.

We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed 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. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.