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This individual has long been known as a truly outsized figure. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass Christmas morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, whisky in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and told him not to fly. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but seeming progressively worse.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the humorous tales were absent in their typical fashion. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

So, before I’d so much as placed a party hat on my head, my mum and I decided to get him to the hospital.

The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. Fellow patients assisted us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere permeated the space.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer everywhere you looked, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on tables next to the beds.

Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so particular to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

After our time at the hospital concluded, we returned home to chilled holiday sides and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a local version of the board game.

It was already late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – had we missed Christmas?

The Aftermath and the Story

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, 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 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”.