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

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken 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 looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.