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Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go 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 placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

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

A Deteriorating Condition

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying 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 moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. 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.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.