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Our family friend has always been a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person gossiping about the latest scandal to befall a local MP, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

It was common for us to pass 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 fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing in their typical fashion. He was convinced he was OK but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

So, before I’d so much as don any celebratory headwear, we resolved to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the characteristic scent of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, despite the underlying sterile and miserable mood; decorations dangled from IV poles and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on nightstands.

Upbeat nursing staff, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

After our time at the hospital concluded, we made our way home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

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

The Aftermath and the Story

While our friend did get better in time, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, while that 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 contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. And, as our friend always says: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.