I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.

Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, 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 Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air filled the air.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.