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

Our family friend has always been a truly outsized figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the newest uproar to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, 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.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.

By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed 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”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.