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He has always been a man of a truly outsized personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. At family parties, he is the person gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

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

A Rapid Decline

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 characteristic scent of institutional meals and air filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, while that Christmas 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 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. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.