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

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.

It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.