🔗 Share this article

This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital 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 hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be 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 headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year 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”.