On A Prayer

You can either be a believer or an avid football fan to understand this story. On the night of 11th June, 2010, I was at St. George Hospital, doing a night shift as part of my internship. Being the only intern posted there at the time, I was expected to remain on call throughout the night, in case any emergency occurs or a new patient shows up. Which normally does happen at least once a night. All this was fine, except for one problem. That was the night of the FIFA World Cup finals. Spain vs Netherlands. (If you dont see what the big deal is, or get my anguish, then go to hell.)
The entire day I spent coming up with an excuse that would require me to disappear at night for 3 hours. Finally I told my resident that some of my relatives were coming in from Kerala, and I would have to go and pick them up from the railway station. She said fine, but she'll expect me back in the ward in half an hour. I explained that I would have to take them to their house which would take time. She said no. Strike one.
I suspect I was visibly depressed for the rest of the day, because she asked me what was wrong. Not thinking clearly, I said that the relatives were actually my cousins, and we had actually made plans to watch the match together. She started laughing, but then noticing my face, said that I may go for sometime, as long as I'm in the hospital vicinity. If there's any emergency, she'll call, and I'd have to come running. But it was the finals, and I was feeling defiant. I said that if I'm going, I'l only be back after enjoying the whole match. She said no. Strike two.
I was all out of ideas. And full of misery. The match was scheduled to start at 1.00 pm. I imagined my friends meeting up, my reserved place at the sports club wasted, missing the greatest event in sports, because of some stupid postings. I toyed with the idea of just leaving, keeping my cell phone switched off; but I knew the consequences would be bad. Anger and helplessness kept taking turns flooding my head. And finally, they both stopped. And I started praying. It was around 10.00 pm at the time.
At 11.45, a patient came. She was 8 months pregnant, and she was in some pain. If she went into labour, I knew I'd be kept busy for the next 3 hours. I resigned myself to what seemed inevitable. But just then, the senior resident showed up unexpectedly, examined the patient, declared her as not warranting admission and sent her home.
My watch showed 12.30. My heart was beating fast, and my mind was made up. I was just gonna leave, see the match, and face the music later. I got up, and the lift door opened. And out stepped Bhavesh, my previous co-intern. He had come to the hospital for some work in the evening, and it got too late for him to go back home. So was it possible for him to spend the night in the side-room of our ward? Ok great. What? Yes of course, he'd be happy to fill in for me for sometime. No problems.
As I was walking/ running out through the main gate of the building, across the street, towards the club..my heart still pounding, but with a different emotion altogether..grinning like an idiot, shaking my head..trying to understand what just happened.
I was supporting Spain. And they won that night. I was glad, they deserved it. But at some point during that night, I realized that something more important than the match had taken place. Years later, I may not remember who played and won; but I'll always remember the prayer that worked.