🔗 Share this article I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey. Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades. We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, 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. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse. The Day Progressed The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful. Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room. The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air. The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds. Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers When visiting hours were over, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game. The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday? The Aftermath and the Story While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”. How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.