🔗 Share this article

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Thus, he found himself 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 as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.

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

A Deteriorating Condition

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer all around, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, while that Christmas 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 involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year 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”.