🔗 Share this article I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey. He has always been a man of a larger than life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades. We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day 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 took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse. As Time Passed The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage. So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital. We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Deteriorating Condition Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air. What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds. Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game. It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday? The Aftermath and the Story Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”. If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.