🔗 Share this article I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and he went from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way. Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades. We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky. The Day Progressed Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful. So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E. The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day? A Deteriorating Condition When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space. What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds. Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently 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 festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game. It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us? The Aftermath and the Story While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”. How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year 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”.