🔗 Share this article I Took a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from peaky to barely responsive on the way. He has always been a man of a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades. It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day 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 supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell. As Time Passed Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage. Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room. The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Deteriorating Condition When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable. What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands. Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”. A Subdued Return Home Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game. It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas? The Aftermath and the Story Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”. Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.