🔗 Share this article I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way. He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades. Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell. The Morning Rolled On The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage. So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E. The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space. Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands. 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”. Heading Home for Leftovers After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game. The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday? The Aftermath and the Story While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, 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 hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.