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Our family friend has always been a larger than life figure. Clever and unemotional – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to involve a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to get him to the hospital.

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

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

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

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, 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 – had we missed Christmas?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.