Think of all the other forms of cancer and we are talking some mind-numbing numerics. I’ve never been a mathematical wizard. Long-haired professors of the 1960’s left me mathematically challenged with their circular eyeglasses, square pies and rhythm methods for logs.

Yet, I’ve served my academic time with cardinal numbers, cube roots, minuends, Roman numerals, and trigonometric functions. Even crunched a few bits and bytes. But if you want to discuss absolutes and infinity, come on over. I know the mathematician of all mathematicians. He says in Psalms, "He apointeth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names."

I think that if God knows the name of each and every star, I can rest in peace knowing he knows my name and yours too.

If we are honest, most of us like to be called by our names. One of my physicians takes the time to call me on the phone and gives me lab reports in person. He asks me how I’m doing and he’s not just wanting the routine medical jargon. He wants to know how I really am. There is a compassionate difference there which I appreciate.

What I don’t like is to call a doctor’s office, get some receptionist who has probably never even driven past a medical school, but who tries to diagnose the intricacies of metastatic cancer on the telephone.

"And just where is your pain?"

She wouldn’t want me to really answer that. Finally, after twenty questions, we get to the point that she thinks my problem might need to be discussed with the doctor. She leaves me waiting while she checks her schedule book.

"O. K., Mrs. Kelly. The first appointment we have is three weeks from today at 4:45 p.m. Is that O.K.?"

"No," I answer politely, thinking that I’ll either be dead or well in that length of time.

"Is there anyone else there I can talk to?" I ask, hoping for her supervisor.

"Sorry." the receptionist replies. "There’s nobody here with higher authority…"