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Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, we resolved 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 Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?

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 isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling 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”.