I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive during the journey.

This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.