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Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, 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 a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, 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, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition 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”.