I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to barely responsive on the way.

Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Morning Rolled On

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. 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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.

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

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

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

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.