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This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming in their typical fashion. He maintained that he felt alright but he didn’t look it. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.

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

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We watched something daft 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 – had we missed Christmas?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, even if that particular Christmas does not rank among my favorites, 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 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”.