I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, 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 take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. 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 snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, 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”.