I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular 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 festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.

By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.