My Breasts, My Cure-- Chapter Four

Chapter Four

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The Waiting Time

The table is momentarily quiet. Just another veritable powder keg of merriment poised to explode. All eyes and ears are on Nestor who seems to meditate between sentences. Is he finished with his discourse? We're not sure. We wait politely for an affirmative sign that Nestor's little speech is over. We don't want to interrupt him again, which has only contributed to the seemingly never-ending speech. But his wife, Nora, cannot take the suspense any longer. "Are you done?" she asks. Instantaneously, another chorus of laughter erupts from the group.

         "It's hard to finish when you get interrupted a lot," Nestor characteristically replies without much emotion. You got to love him.

         My eyes are tearing from laughing too much. At this point, our hilarity is catching the attention of the other diners. I am concerned that the manager is going to kick us out of the place for disorderly conduct. Six mature, dignified professionals seem to have forgotten the proper dining etiquette in a classy restaurant where a tiny piece of steak alone cost $38. Let's not even mention the a la carte side dishes.

         I am having such a great time with my friends and colleagues. It's not all at Nestor's expense, of course. Asian American jokes and humorous anecdotes heavily flavor the dinner conversations.

         What great fun. What great company. What great conversations. Nestor and Nora are editors of the periodical where my monthly lifestyle column appears. The others are traveling guests from the Philippines and Taiwan.

         If they only knew what lurks behind my exuberant exterior.

         Nestor finally finishes his homily--a long dissertation for a message that we have already comprehended from his opening sentence. We all agreed that the Philippine delegates to the international convention about business and family quality control performed impressively better than their counterparts from two other Asian countries. A little touch of humor, and enticement of gifts to the first five who asked questions certainly grabbed the attention of the crowd.

         The represented Philippine corporation is Ebara-Benguet, Inc., a stainless steel casting company headed by Albert Leano, President, who is seated next to me. For many years, the company was grappled with internal and external turmoil highlighted by labor relation's problems with a militant union. Ebara-Benguet was in the brink of dissolution. Entered Nora's sister, seated to my right, Dr. Milflora M. Gatchalian, CEO, Quality Partners Company, Ltd., and Dr. Jose C. Gatchalian, Professor, University of the Philippines, School of Labor and Industrial Relations, seated across from me. Together, this husband and wife team helped save Ebara-Benguet from its life-threatening condition. Today, the company is fiscally healthy for the first time.

         "Quality control is the key," Dr. Milflora Gatchalian declares at the table. "You have to apply quality control in business operations in the same way you apply quality control in your personal life to survive and lead a good life."

         "And a lot of humor!" Dr. Jose Gatchalian exclaims. "You know how Filipinos survive hardship, don't you?" he added. "Because they love humor."

         Indeed, humor is the best medicine. So I laugh some more.

         My cellular phone rings. It's Dottie, one of my friends from Chicago. I excuse myself and take the call in the ladies room.

         "I dreamed about you twice recently," Dottie says. "And the dreams are not pleasant. Are you all right?"

         Ahh, Dottie. That's just what I needed to hear now, I say to myself. "Of course, I am. How's your mother?"

         "She's still in remission. I'm worried about her, though. She's losing a lot of weight and is pale and fatigued all the time."

         "She's been in remission for five years. That's encouraging, isn't it?"

         "Yes, it's just hard for me to see her looking sick. I don't know what I would do if she dies. She's the only family I have."

         "There, there. You have your wonderful husband who loves you, and you have your beautiful daughter."

         "Mothers are different. You know that."

         Dottie's mother and my mother have had their share of medical problems, and our conversations always lead to them. We both love and care for them the way daughters should love and care for their mothers.

         "I'm having dinner with friends right now, dear. May I call you later?"

         "Promise?"

         "Promise."

         I have barely returned to my table when my cellular rings again. The caller ID shows Peter's office number.

"What a popular girl!" Nora remarks.

         "Excuse me," I say and leave the table again to take the call in the ladies room.

         "Have you heard from the doctor yet?" he greets without any preamble. Just like me, he's anxious to hear about the diagnosis.

          "No, I haven't"

         "Wow, it's been four days."

         "I don't know what's taking them so long."

         "Are you going to call him?"

         "No. I figure if it's ready he'll call me. There's no point in being too anxious about it. Meanwhile, I am having fun with my friends."

         "That's the spirit. I'm not worried either. I'm just curious. I'm sure everything will be okay."

         "Right."

         "OK, go back to your friends, dear. I will see you at home."

         "I love you."

* * *

Next item: "My Breasts, My Cure -- Chapter Five"