🔗 Share this article I Took a Close Friend of the Family to A&E – and he went from peaky to barely responsive on the way. This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades. We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured 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 looking increasingly peaky. The Morning Rolled On Time passed, yet the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed. Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to get him to the hospital. We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day? A Deteriorating Condition By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind filled the air. Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables. Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”. A Quiet Journey Back When visiting hours were over, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly. By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas? The Aftermath and the Story While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, 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. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.