🔗 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 bigger-than-life personality. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. At family parties, he would be the one discussing the newest uproar to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades. Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, 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 fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky. The Day Progressed The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful. Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital. We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day? A Rapid Decline Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable. What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables. Positive medical attendants, 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 returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, probably Agatha Christie, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game. It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us? Healing and Reflection Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”. How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, 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”.