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This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one discussing the newest uproar to involve a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts 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. However, one holiday season, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.

As Time Passed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, 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.

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

A Deteriorating Condition

By the time we got there, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.