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He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to another brandy. Whenever our families celebrated, he is the person discussing the latest scandal to catch up with a local MP, or entertaining us with stories of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

We would often spend Christmas morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and broke 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 found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Deteriorating Condition

When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. People were making brave attempts at festive gaiety everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were moving busily and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and holiday television. We saw a lighthearted program on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?

Healing and Reflection

While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year 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”.