I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.

This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent 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 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.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold 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 great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

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

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.