🔗 Share this article

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life personality. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. 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 did not manage.

Thus, prior to me managing to don any celebratory headwear, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has gone down in family lore 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 the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.