🔗 Share this article I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way. Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity 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. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse. As Time Passed The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage. So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital. The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day? A Rapid Decline Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space. What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds. Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”. A Subdued Return Home Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program 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 – had we missed Christmas? The Aftermath and the Story Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”. How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.