I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.

He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

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

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, 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. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.