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Our family friend has always been a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. During family gatherings, he’s the one gossiping about the latest scandal to involve a regional politician, or regaling us with tales of the outrageous philandering of assorted players from the local club for forty years.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

The Morning Rolled On

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, 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

Upon our arrival, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly 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 it had begun to snow, and I remember feeling deflated – did we lose the holiday?

Recovery and Retrospection

While our friend did get better in time, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, is not for me to definitively say, 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”.