🔗 Share this article I Drove a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to barely responsive during the journey. He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years. It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse. The Morning Rolled On The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed. Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E. We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day? A Rapid Decline Upon our arrival, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable. The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds. Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly 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 having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday? Healing and Reflection Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”. If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.