🔗 Share this article

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to involve a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind filled the air.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed 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 unique 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 watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.