🔗 Share this article I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way. He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades. We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one 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 looking increasingly peaky. The Day Progressed The morning rolled on but 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 found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed. 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 how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind permeated the space. Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands. Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. 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. By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us? Healing and Reflection Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”. Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.