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Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person gossiping about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – was Christmas effectively over for us?

The Aftermath and the Story

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.