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This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one 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, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

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 how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit all around, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, 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. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.