THE BIG WAIT

The hour of make or break for the doktora-not-yet had come after three months of reviewing for the boards. Imminent too was the moment of truth -- was she really studying or merely snoozing behind the "do not disturb sign" permanently posted on her locked door that only opened when she wanted to yell for food or drink? Was she really browsing the Net for medical science updates or was she playing doctor to the virtual characters I knew she has been creating stealthily on the SIMS II game board?

And will all the preparations -- both heroic and absurd -- work? The expensive review manuals? The topic outlines she painstakingly wrote for the more critical subjects? The fish oil and ginkgo biloba capsules she swallowed each meal to sharpen her remembering and thinking caps?

And why should this mom protest when asked to buy red undies and Red Ribbon ensaymadas that are supposed to work like a charm for any board taker? Didn't she herself wear something old and new and borrowed and blue on her own wedding day? (And don't nobody ask if wearing those 40 years ago worked -- or else).

Each time daughter came home from the exam, I asked if she remembered to kick the last chair in the row she was seated on her way out of the test room. Even if it didn't kick in more good luck as it was touted to, it could've at least been good for releasing some of daughter's pent up tensions.

We also looked heavenward for help. We went to Pangasinan to burn candles at the miraculous shrine of Our Lady of Manaoag and vowed to go back -- passed or flunked. I prayed two novenas to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and promised to pray a third -- win or lose.

The night the results were expected to come out was a long one. I kept vigil with my daughter and other doctors-in-waiting at the pinoyboardresults.com chat room. I was almost certain there were other moms of takers in the room but I seemed to be the only one anxious and audacious enough to actively participate in the exchange. When the youngsters asked each other about their waterloo subjects, I volunteered it was Prevmed (preventive medicine) for my daughter and fretted when no one else agreed. We argued about the passing rate reports that rolled and coasted from a low of 25 per cent to a high of 75. Not a few loudly wished it was 100 per cent and I had to bite my lips to keep from saying there would be inevitable passers and flunkers. We collectively held our breath every time the results were rumored to come out -- first at 10 pm, then at 11 then at 12 midnight, finally at 3 a.m., even as more rational voices tried to persuade the rest it was really more sensible to go to sleep and stop torturing themselves. It was well past 4 a.m. when I -- the most stubborn in the chat room -- finally gave up and tumbled into bed.

The next day could have been another stretch of agonized waiting but for a merciful appointment Bonch and I had with the eye doctor at 6 p.m.

On our way home at about 10 p.m., our phones beeped in succession.

I braced myself as I read my eldest son's message:

"Mommy, hwag kang malulungkot ha? Kalamayin mo loob mo. May anak ka nang doktora. Pasado si Mayet!"*

**Pandemonium in the car!!**

And that is how Dra. Mayet has ceased to be Dra. not yet.


*Translation: Mom, don't be sad. Compose yourself. You now have a doctor for a daughter. Mayet passed!