🔗 Share this article I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey. This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years. We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his 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. As Time Passed The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful. So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice 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 unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space. What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands. Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers When visiting hours were over, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game. The hour was already advanced, 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 truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”. If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.