🔗 Share this article I Took a Family Friend to A&E – and his condition shifted from unwell to scarcely conscious on the way. He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades. It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse. The Morning Rolled On Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage. So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E. The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Worrying Turn By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air. The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles 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 great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”. Heading Home for Leftovers When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game. By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas? The Aftermath and the Story While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”. If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.