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He has always been a man of a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved 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 Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying 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 no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.