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This individual has long been known as a larger than life character. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he is the person discussing the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.

We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, 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 drive him to the emergency room.

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

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?

Healing and Reflection

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 become part of family legend 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 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”.