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This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday 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 contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.