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He has always been a man of a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

By the time we got there, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. There were heroic attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on nightstands.

Positive medical attendants, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

The hour was already advanced, 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 deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history 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”.