🔗 Share this article I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey. He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years. We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken 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 appearing more and more unwell. The Morning Rolled On The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed. So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E. We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space. What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands. Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game. The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday? The Aftermath and the Story Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”. If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.