I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning 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, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

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 had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

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 in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.