🔗 Share this article I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey. This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years. Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky. The Day Progressed Time passed, yet the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage. Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E. We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day? A Deteriorating Condition Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space. What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands. Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”. A Quiet Journey Back After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game. By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas? Healing and Reflection Even though he ultimately healed, 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 contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.