I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

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

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?

The Aftermath and the Story

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, 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, I couldn’t possibly comment, 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”.