🔗 Share this article I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way. He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one discussing the newest uproar to involve a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years. We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky. The Morning Rolled On Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage. Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital. We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air. The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands. Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game. The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas? Recovery and Retrospection Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, 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 couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.