🔗 Share this article

This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to catch up with a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, 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 take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.

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

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

The hour was already advanced, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – 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 a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.