The doctor strolled into the room wearing a bright plaid shirt and a pair of khaki pants. He was a big guy with a pleasant face covered with a full, though well-kept, beard. I guessed him to be in his forties. He was accompanied by his nurse, younger and dressed just as casually in a blouse and slacks.
"I'm Charles Hollen," he said, "and this is my assistant, Becky." I understand that we are meeting today to discuss what we should do next now that you have had your cancer surgery." It had been about six weeks since my radical mastectomy and the removal of twelve of my lymph nodes.
I had already seen the initial pathology report from my surgeon. I knew that I had within the tissue a primary tumor about the size of a walnut as well as microscopic spread beyond where the initial malignancy existed. I also knew that my nymph nodes were all clean, a very encouraging sign.
As the doctor stated, "I think we have a good chance to knock out anything left after the surgery, but we need to hit you hard."
I had brought my two brothers with me that day, hoping that three heads would be better than one in asking questions and remembering answers.
We spent about two hours in conversation. It soon became apparent that Becky knew just about as much as the doctor; and that he relied heavily on her opinion.  While talking to one of my brothers, she mentioned that her dad had been sheriff of Custer County.
"Was your maiden name Meuller," I asked, because I knew that the previous sheriff of Custer County, where I had lived most of my life, had been Richard Meuller.
"Yes," she replied.Â
"Did I have you in class, Becky?"
"Yes, I was in your Sophomore English class."
"I thought so," I replied.
The truth of the matter was that I could no more remember her any more than I could have flown to the moon with Neil Armstrong. I was making an educated guess, since I taught the majority of the Sophomore English classes.
"Crap," I'm thinking. "I don't remember her being in my classes; ergo, I don't remember what grade I gave her."
And suddenly that seemed very important. Here I was about to put my life in the hands of this oncologist and his very competent assistant, and I couldn't even remember the girl.
What if I hadn't given her a very good grade and she was the type who held a grudge? Just my luck I would get a former student as my oncology nurse and I couldn't even remember the girl.