I Took a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way.

He has always been a man of a larger than life character. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase 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, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

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 tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.

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 unwell to almost unconscious. 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 in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

By then it was quite late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.