I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.

This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, 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 fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, 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 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”.