🔗 Share this article

This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he is the person chatting about the most recent controversy to catch up with a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the outrageous philandering of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

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

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we headed home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, probably Agatha Christie, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture 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”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or contains some artistic license, 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”.