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This individual has long been known as a larger than life figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up 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 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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique 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 watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, 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”.