We went to Atlantic City for our 8th wedding anniversary last month and stayed at Harrah’s. We got a nice room, played blackjack, had dinner, and went to a show. As we were escorted up the stairs to our seats in the theater, I held onto a handrail, and was literally stunned when my head was slammed hard from above. There was a concrete overhand along the wall above the staircase that houses dim lighting.  I was safely below the fixture, and until I simply no longer fit underneath, and unknowingly stepped right up into it. I felt like a cartoon character with the dizzy eyes and stars spinning around their head after a major blow. I just stood there for a while, holding on to the railing, trying to recover my balance, then the usher brought us to our seats. Lou didn’t like the table, which was far back, and there were plenty of open tables closer and toward the center, so the usher moved us to better seats. My head was already killing me, and I still had tears, so I told Lou I needed to get some Tylenol and left the table to ask where I could get something for the headache. I was escorted to the hotel’s medical station, where they looked or signs of concussion, filled out a report, and eventually dispensed the Tylenol. I returned to the theater, but for some reason I cried throughout the whole show. Not blubbering, just silent tears dripping down my face. I felt like a child. The next day, my head throbbed, and a couple days later, my neck became stiff and painful, and the headache got worse. I picked a doctor from the yellow pages and was prescribed some medications, a stupid neck brace, and physical therapy.

Once again, Wharton didn’t accept me, but did put me on their initial waiting list, and now their summer waiting list. It’s like when I really wanted something and my parents said, “we’ll see.” I knew that meant more likely an eventual “no” than a “yes”, but it was better than outright rejection. My fingers are crossed for delayed gratification.

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