I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.

This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.

Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.