I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.

He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

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.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.