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This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he would be the one chatting about the most recent controversy to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

We would often spend 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, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Morning Rolled On

The hours went by, however, the stories were not coming like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, he’d gone from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, even with the pervasive 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 particular to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

Healing and Reflection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted 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 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”.