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This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one discussing the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Thus, prior to me managing to placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. 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.

By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.