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This individual has long been known as a larger than life personality. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. At family parties, he would be the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He was convinced he was OK but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even put on a festive hat, my mother and I made the choice to take him to A&E.

We thought about calling an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from peaky to barely responsive. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the generic smell of hospital food and wind filled the air.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. There were heroic attempts at Christmas spirit in every direction, even with the pervasive depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and went on to get a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday 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, I couldn’t possibly comment, but its annual retelling 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”.