🔗 Share this article I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way. This individual has long been known as a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades. Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky. The Day Progressed The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful. Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital. We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air. The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands. Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. 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. The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us? Healing and Reflection While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”. Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.