I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way.

He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

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 what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.