I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved 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

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history 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 its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.