Every Sunday night, after putting on my Randall Cunningham pajamas, I toss and turn as images of yet another frustrating Eagles performance run through my head. I’m up all night pacing throughout the house, sometimes even trying to calm my nerves with a glass of warm milk. On Monday morning, it’s more of the same – my nurses know to stay out of my way, and, of course, my secretary never schedules early morning appointments.
But last night was different. I laid down at 10 pm, and when I looked at the clock, it was after 6 in the morning. Was someone playing a trick on me?
I got out of bed, and for the first time since Labor Day, my lower back didn’t give way when I went to the bathroom. When I got to work, I had a spring in my step, even surprising my secretary with a fresh baked danish from the cafeteria. And I didn’t even mind that my first patient walked in with a violent yeast infection.
That’s when I realized, the Eagles victory over the Vikings had left me with a feeling that I hadn’t felt since September: happiness.