🔗 Share this article I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to barely responsive during the journey. This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the newest uproar to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years. Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse. The Morning Rolled On The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed. So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital. We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day? A Deteriorating Condition When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable. What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands. Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”. A Quiet Journey Back Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game. The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas? The Aftermath and the Story While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas 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 a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.