musings

on this day many, many years ago - back when it was 2009 - OrthoMan opened an email. it was the results of his Step 1 scores taken just a few weeks previously...

our family of 3 was a family of 2.5. there was 1 car, a pregnant wife/chauffeur, {future} Orthoman, and enough stress and anxiety to fill Yankee Stadium.

it was early in the morning when we set out on the 20 minute drive to the testing center. there was 7 weeks of INTENSE preparation leading up to this one test. we didnt really speak because we were both so freaked out. i mean, this one effing test would determine the rest of our lives!!! and as everyone here knows, that's really not an overstatement. i gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my hands hurt when i got home. i was convinced that my lil heart would explode at any minute, which would distract Orthoman while he was taking his test and cause him to fail said test and have his life ruined TWICE in one day. yikes.

i dont remember much about that day because frankly, i went home and slept for most of the day. except for when i went to Coldstone for lunch. and got the love it size. in a waffle cone. with 2 mix-ins.

since we had only 1 car i had to guess when he might be finished. i showed up about an hour earlier than he suggested. then i waited an hour and a half to see him. i had on NPR and pretended to listen to The Splendid Table {great program, btw}. and then i saw him. he walked out with his bf/bff/study buddy/comrade/etc. he nodded in my direction, acknowledging my presence, but didnt move from his spot. he stood there an extra 43 minutes (YES! i counted). i wanted to smack him, but instead i gave him a kiss when he got into the car and gave him a cheesy grin.

but he sat there. that ass just sat there not saying anything. "i didnt fail it, but i didnt do much better than passing."

it almost killed me. i reassured him as best as i could. of course he didnt fail!

but what if he did? what if my husband, whose friends commended him for studying the hardest and longest, actually failed. i wanted to strangle him and scream. i wanted to yell and shout, "how can you do this to us?!?! i've given EVERYTHING to make this work and to support you!" {and those thoughts were in no way fueled by my pregnancy hormones, i swear}.

instead, i said, "do you still want to go to Red Robin and get some dinner?"

a few weeks later i was sitting at my desk at work. my feet were being propped up by a box of office paper and i was on the phone with one of the partners, trying to figure out where the numbers must have been transposed on a statement. it was about 90 billion degrees outside and 4473% humid {once again, i am in no way exaggerating). the conversation was lasting longer than my bladder and i was dying. the last thing on my mind was {future}Orthoman. then i got a text. it said nothing except three numbers. i re-read it 4 or 9 times to make sure i got it right.

2-he kicked-ass

after a month of preparing for the worst and expecting nothing, here it was. he was home free. he had license to become WHATEVER he wanted! we could go into any field we wanted! we managed to break through the glass ceiling.

i just wish he had some idea of what he wanted to go into.

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i'm an orthowife, and this is my life.

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i cross-posted this over at Med School Tagalongs