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He has always been a man of a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

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”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.