🔗 Share this article I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way. He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades. It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his 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 humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful. So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E. We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Rapid Decline Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air. Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands. Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game. It was already late, and snowing, 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 subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”. Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.