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Our family friend has always been a truly outsized personality. Clever and unemotional – and hardly ever declining to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the most recent controversy to befall a member of parliament, or regaling us with tales of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. But, one Christmas, some ten years back, when he was planning to join family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, suitcase in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Thus, he found himself back with us, trying to cope, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

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.

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

A Rapid Decline

Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us get him to a ward, where the generic smell of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit all around, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on nightstands.

Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that charming colloquial address so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Quiet Journey Back

When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and engaged in an even sillier game, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

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

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 gone down in family lore as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but the story’s yearly repetition has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.