🔗 Share this article

This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind filled the air.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.

The hour was already advanced, 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 in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, even if that particular 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 contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.