It has been said that the English language is the world's most difficult language to master. I disagree. I've tried learning Russian, German, Greek, and Spanish. English is my choice by far. It is the idioms we use that can be bewildering to those who are learning our language. We Americans have time on our hands. We change our tune. We run neck and neck. We feather our nests and some of us have a green thumb. Even a child has difficulty understanding why butterflies don't make butter or why eggplants don't give eggs.

I often wonder why medical terminology has to be so convoluting? Why can't a patient's diagnosis be described in easily understood words.

For example, this is a paragraph, word for word, from one of my medical reports: "Again demonstrated a large mass of confluent lymphadenopathy extending from the azygos window inferiorly along the right peratracheal region into the right hilum. The mass measures approximately 3 to 4 cm. In greatest transverse dimension and extends for a length of approximately 7 cm. Additionally, there is a new irregular nodule in the azgoesophageal recess."

I have asked four doctors to date where the azgoesophageal recess is and what was the azgos window. Each time I got a blank stare. One doctor gave me a grunt and a generalized wave toward the chest. Another was honest and said he really didn't know. I still don't know where the azgos window is, but I think it is in the vicinity of the sternum.

I am glad it is now legal for patients to get a copy of their own hospital and doctor records. Written documentation helps me prepare appropriate questions for my doctors. However, I have come to believe that some doctors, especially radiologists, make up words as they go along.

Most doctors don't have too much time on their hands. In fact, they don't have enough hands and schedule back to back. Quite often it has literally taken me hours to go from the front door to the back door. Most of that time was spent waiting.

It is a welcome sound to hear the doctor rustling through the pages of my chart before rushing into the examining room. There is no way a doctor could remember all the details of every patient's case. For years I have kept a large binder. In it are copies of every lab test, each radiology report, and every hospital discharge summary, as well as other documents pertinent to my health.

I know my case better than any one of my doctors. The reports have helped tremendously in keeping intelligent conversation flowing about the progress, or lack of progress, in my battle with metastatic cancer. I find nothing wrong with this though one doctor told me I was obsessive. So be it. I am interested in my health and want to preserve it for as long as I can. Also, doctors do make mistakes.

Several years ago I was in one of Atlanta's major teaching hospitals. My doctor was an older, but arrogant physician. On one of his rounds, with a host of interns following, he popped into my room unexpectedly and threw the sheet off my body exposing my nakedness and multiple drainage tubes following major surgery. As his pushed on my abdomen, the teacher/doctor matter-of factly pointed out to the medical trainees, "No gall bladder, no spleen, no liver." Drawing on my fine command of language I said nothing. But as much as it hurt to laugh, I couldn't help it. I didn't need my notebook to tell me I still had a liver. As far as I know, nobody is alive who doesn't have a liver. A minor slip, but a major fact.

He who laughs last, lasts.