🔗 Share this article I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious during the journey. Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club for forty years. It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse. The Morning Rolled On The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful. Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E. The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable. Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds. Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”. A Quiet Journey Back Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. 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. By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas? Recovery and Retrospection Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. 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”. If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.