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Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.

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

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program 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 snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but hearing it told each year 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”.