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This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life character. Witty, unsentimental – and not one to say no to a further glass. Whenever our families celebrated, he’s the one discussing the newest uproar to befall a member of parliament, 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 the holiday morning with him and his family, then departing for our own celebrations. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and broke his ribs. He was treated at the hospital and told him not to fly. 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 anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his appearance suggested otherwise. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, gingerly, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

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

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

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us help him reach a treatment area, where the characteristic scent of hospital food and wind permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying depressing and institutional feel; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on bedside tables.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so unique to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

When visiting hours were over, we returned home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. 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.

By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?

The Aftermath and the Story

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and subsequently contracted a serious circulatory condition. And, while that Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has entered into our family history as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has done no damage to my pride. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.