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This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. During family gatherings, he would be the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

Frequently, we would share the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and told him not to fly. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

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

A Quiet Journey Back

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

The hour was already advanced, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?

The Aftermath and the Story

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get DVT. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.