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This individual has long been known as a truly outsized personality. Witty, unsentimental – and hardly ever declining to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person gossiping about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.

It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he tumbled down the staircase, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, making the best of it, but appearing more and more unwell.

The Day Progressed

The morning rolled on but the humorous tales were absent like they normally did. He insisted he was fine but he didn’t look it. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.

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

A Rapid Decline

By the time we got there, he had moved from being peaky to barely responsive. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of hospital food and wind was noticeable.

What was distinct, however, was the mood. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety all around, despite the underlying clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.

Cheerful nurses, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were moving busily and using that great term of endearment so particular to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We viewed something silly 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 snowing, and I remember having a sense of anticlimax – did we lose the holiday?

The Aftermath and the Story

Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and went on to get 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”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, is not for me to definitively say, but hearing it told each year 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”.