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Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting 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. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.

Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday 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 contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.