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This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. At family parties, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass 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 fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?

The Aftermath and the Story

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular 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 involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.