I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.

This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

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

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, 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”.