I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted 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 a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

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

Heading Home for Leftovers

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.