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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. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person chatting about the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.

It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Therefore, before I could even don any celebratory headwear, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to cold bread sauce and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas does not rank among my favorites, it has entered into our family history 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 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”.