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Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday during the last four decades.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, perhaps a detective story, 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 – had we missed Christmas?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but the story’s yearly repetition certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.