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

Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken 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 seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

By the time we got there, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

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

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

The Aftermath and the Story

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year 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”.