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This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.

We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and fractured his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

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, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – 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 DVT. 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 involves a degree of exaggeration, 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”.