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

He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to involve a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, 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 broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.

The Day Progressed

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

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

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. 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”.

If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, 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”.