I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and he went from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.

He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

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.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer all around, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, 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 definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.