I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.

Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in 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, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?

The Aftermath and the Story

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.