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This individual has long been known as a truly outsized character. Witty, unsentimental – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping 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 during the last four decades.

We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.

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

A Worrying Turn

By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer all around, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so unique to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

It was already late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.