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This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, his luggage 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, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.