🔗 Share this article

This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Therefore, before I could even 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

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.