You Really Bring Out the Seven in Me

My friend Susan and I have this standing argument about the number Five.

We had worked together for years at a Level I trauma center when, during a night punctuated by particularly unbridled chaos, it came to light that we had each assigned genders to the entire number line as first graders in the 1960s.

Our eyes met in disbelief.

Resuscitative efforts continued seamlessly as we ran through the first few together:  Ones are boys, Twos are girls, Threes are girls, etc.  There were a few minor haggles, but we were each able to imagine how the other may have confused some detail in her tiny mind back then - say, thinking Eights might possibly be boys, for example.

As if.

But the Fives?  Oh, please!  There is no wiggle room where a Five is concerned.  I was captivated by Susan's admission that she actually believed they were girls.  She just smiled and shook her head at the fact that I could believe they even resembled boys.

I'm sure our patients that night, even in their unconscious states, wished we'd switch to a subject that fostered a deeper sense of security - with perhaps a bit of intelligence woven in as a special bonus.

Today's class in Numerology reinforced the importance of number-wrangling in everyday life.  We simply do not realize each number's power until we're confronted early one morning by a disinterested fast-food worker protruding from a drive-through window, uttering words you'd never associate with two innocent orders of pancakes, two orange juices, and one cup of coffee.

"That'll be six dollars and sixty-six cents."

Whoa.

And then you get to transfer the Power of Crazy to your young daughter, staring innocently from the passenger seat, by inexplicably asking the lady at the window in your softest everything's-going-to-be-okay voice:  Do you sell pie?  Can you add a piece of pie to our order?  Or, how about, is it too early for french fries?

I do not even believe all the hoo-haw about the number 666.  But even typing it just now gives me icky pause.  A person puts three of those guys together and there is no telling how much mischief may result.  You definitely need to throw in a girl - a real smart girl, like a Nine - to keep things under control.

So I learned today in Numerology that my Life Path Number is Two, which translates to peacemaker, mediator, fixer - basically the person who facilitates the blending of personalities in most group situations.  Like a family.  Or a herd of disgruntled coworkers who can't decide which other group of coworkers they hate the most:  day shift or the entire Emergency Department staff.

Sometimes peacemakers appear to be spineless, but we're not.  We're just watching.  We are waiting for a sign.  And we're deciding important stuff, like which kind of cookies to bake for the entire Emergency Department staff in apology for the rude treatment on the night we got five traumas in a row and everybody, including the five traumas, wished they were somewhere else.

There's that pesky Five again.

I wish I'd learned about Numerology and my special calm-everybody-the-heck-down power before my throw-down with Susan.  I would have listened more and argued less about that one sticking point - since, my gosh - it doesn't really matter that Fives are most definitely boys, right?

I say Numerology is best taught to adults, who can look at their lives and say, "Oh, yeah.  I am a definite Six!"  When introduced too early, children may rebel against the notion of a Life Path and mess everything up.  I, myself, may have avoided every deal I brokered between siblings for decades.  Plus - what kid wants to hear she's a Number Two?  Eeewww.

As a Two, I keep things fair and balanced.  I compromise to maintain harmony, so I'm the ultimate team member.  I am a creature of habit and routine, good at following orders, but occasionally new resident physicians took advantage of my Two-ness by bossing me around.  Acting as a human buffer is one of my strengths, but if a physician's order spelled trouble for my patient, I morphed into a rabid Eight quicker than you could say let's keep those fluids wide open.

My mediator qualities were finely honed by 26 years spent in direct patient care - which, ironically, will not be necessary after retirement unless I set up a consulting business.  I could help corral difficulties that arise when loyal, down-to-earth Fours get all bent out of shape by the appearance of those dashingly daring, assertively ambitious Ones.

But then I wouldn't be retired anymore.  I'd be adding and re-adding birth dates - scared to death I'd give somebody the wrong Life Path Number.

I added up my daughter Abi's numbers and she's a Three, all right - a sensitive soul who entered this plane with sparkling, optimistic effervescence; a total delight to listen to who knows how to make others feel at home.  I added up my girlfriend Joan's numbers.  Yup.  She's a Nine - extremely compassionate, generous; a selfless person without prejudice - a magnet for people who need a friend.

It became official - I was ON board with Numerology.

Then I hit a snag with my friend Susan.  I had assumed that, as a kindred spirit, she was also a Two.  We took turns rounding up those coworkers for years - but she's a Nine!

Wow.  Now I know she was just being compassionate and selfless while listening to my arguments about Five.  Me?  I must have been pretending to listen while my brain weighed the merits of chocolate-chip vs. oatmeal-raisin.

After class today I invented my own Numerology:  I added up the approximate number of important people in my life, multiplied that answer by a few of their Life Path Numbers, and divided that by how long I might live.

My own eyes met in disbelief.

I don't think any one of us needs a fancy calculator to figure out just exactly how lucky we are.

(Ever feel like stuffing that pathetically skinny lion into that tuff tootling tugboat - lighting the whole thing on fire and sending it down the rapids over Lollipop Falls?  You must be a parent!  Next Friday I'll teach you how to write your OWN stupid stories for kids.)