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This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, 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?

The Aftermath and the Story

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.