🔗 Share this article I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious on the way. Our family friend has always been a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years. We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse. The Day Progressed The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs 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, we resolved to get him to the hospital. We considered summoning 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 peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable. The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables. Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly. It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us? Recovery and Retrospection Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”. Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, 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”.