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He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take 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 guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer in every direction, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?

The Aftermath and the Story

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, 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 hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.