🔗 Share this article I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way. He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. At family parties, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years. We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse. The Day Progressed The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. 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. Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room. We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable. What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables. Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”. A Quiet Journey Back When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game. The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday? The Aftermath and the Story Even though he ultimately healed, 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 gone down in family lore 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 done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.