I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from peaky to scarcely conscious during the journey.

Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to catch up with a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go 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 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

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.