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He has always been a man of a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the latest scandal to involve a member of parliament, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, 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, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

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

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, 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 – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.