Our family friend has always been a truly outsized character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and not one to say no to another brandy. During family gatherings, he’s the one discussing 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 for forty years.
We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. But, one Christmas, about 10 years ago, 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. Thus, he found himself back with us, making the best of it, but looking increasingly peaky.
The morning rolled on but the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.
Therefore, before I could even placed a party hat on my head, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.
We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air was noticeable.
What was distinct, however, was the mood. People were making brave attempts at holiday cheer all around, even with the pervasive clinical and somber atmosphere; decorations dangled from IV poles and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were bustling about and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
After our time at the hospital concluded, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, likely a mystery drama, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
By then it was quite late, and snowing, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
While our friend did get better in time, he had truly experienced a lung puncture and went on to get deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday is not my most cherished memory, it has entered into our family history 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 done no damage to my pride. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
A seasoned gaming enthusiast with over a decade of experience in reviewing online casinos and sharing winning strategies.
