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Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky 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. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided 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. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, notwithstanding the fundamental sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.