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This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to catch up with a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

By the time we got there, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind filled the air.

Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

The hour was already advanced, 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 truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.