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Our family friend has always been a larger than life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. 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, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage 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, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment 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 great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, 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 experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has done no damage to my pride. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.