🔗 Share this article

This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no 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 notorious womanizing of various Sheffield Wednesday players for forty years.

Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. Medical staff had treated him and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.

As Time Passed

The morning rolled on but the stories were not coming as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He attempted to go upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, my mother and I made the choice to get him to the hospital.

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

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. Fellow patients assisted us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of institutional meals and air filled the air.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.

Positive medical attendants, who no doubt would far rather have been at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as Sheffield’s take on Monopoly.

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

Healing and Reflection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and later developed DVT. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

Whether that’s strictly true, or involves a degree of exaggeration, is not for me to definitively say, but its annual retelling 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”.