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Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to befall a regional politician, or entertaining us with stories of the notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players during the last four decades.

It was common for us to pass the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, some ten years back, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and sustained broken ribs. He was treated at the hospital and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but seeming progressively worse.

The Day Progressed

The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to drive him to the emergency room.

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

A Worrying Turn

Upon our arrival, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

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

Heading Home for Leftovers

When visiting hours were over, we made our way home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We watched something daft on television, likely a mystery drama, and played something even dafter, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

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

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.