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He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to catch up with a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday for forty years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

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

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, 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 went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.