I was in line at the UPS Store waiting to send a sample of blood to my out-of-state myeloma doctors when an impatient man behind me muttered, "C’mon, don’t you know that our days are numbered?"

A shiver went down my spine hearing him speak the odd phrase that I’d heard three other times in the previous 24 hours. In fact, "our days are numbered" was starting to echo in my brain.

Do you know what it’s like when some catchy melody gets stuck in your head and you hear it over and over again?  It’s called an "earworm" and it happens to me all of the time.

You hear a tune playing on the radio, or in the department store, or on someone’s ringtone at the bank and before you know it, the song starts to rattle around in your noggin and you’re humming it out loud.

It gets a bit paradoxical sitting in church learning about the joys of being obedient to God’s will as Frank Sinatra croons ‘I did it my way!’ in the earworm-inhabited recesses of your mind.

Go away, Frank. I’m busy.

Similarly, when I was first diagnosed, myeloma stuff seemed to pop up from everywhere.

It went from being a disease that I’d never heard of to being a condition that someone’s cousin had, or the target of a new drug promising strong profits for pharmaceutical investors, or the focus of a 5K run raising funds to fight leukemia and, oh yeah, myeloma.

As I’ve written before, along with a multiple myeloma diagnosis we seem to be issued a pair of myeloma-colored glasses that virtually paints our world with a blush of myeloma burgundy.  Once you get it, it’s never far from your thoughts.

But recently that one phrase, "our days are numbered," has eerily wormed its way back into my life.

To set the scene, in December of 2008 I was steeling myself for my very first chemotherapy session. As I sat down in the infusion chair, I began to chitchat with the myeloma patient next to me. At one point the gentle­man sighed dramatically and shared this gem:

"My friend, our days are numbered."

What? I must’ve blanched, shocked at his not-so-cheery pronouncement. I’m not sure what he expected me to say. I think that I eventually offered a weak "I guess so."

Man, as if I wasn’t already scared enough. In this context, I knew what "our days are numbered" meant, and it wasn’t a happy thought.

Why couldn’t he have been one of those rah-rah "you can beat this!" supportive fellow patients who would help ease me into the infusion experience?  Instead, here he was already killing us both off, and I hadn’t even begun treatment.

I decided that my new friend, Eeyore, wouldn’t be getting my vote to be inducted into the Myeloma Patient Welcome Wagon Hall of Fame.

Now fast forward six plus years after that fateful meeting at the infusion clinic. I was getting a haircut at the place that I’d been frequenting for two decades, when one of the other barbers said to his client, "Your days are numbered, buddy!"

I don’t even know what they were talking about, but for some reason those words caught my attention.

That evening I was watching a favorite classic comedy flick, The Philadelphia Story, and I heard Jimmy Stewart’s character say, "This is the voice of Doom calling, your days are numbered!"

Then the next morning, I got a call from an old friend who chuckled "My days are numbered, Sean! I’m finally retiring next week!"  Now that was a weird coincidence, but I still didn’t pay too much attention to it.

So as I’m waiting to ship my precious blood, I hear "our days are numbered" yet again. First it was the barbershop, then Jimmy Stewart, then my soon to be lounge-around friend, and now at the UPS Store.

Enough was enough! Completely out of character, I snapped at the poor guy behind me, "They’ll get to us!" And I wasn’t even on dex.

I decided, right then and there, that if they want my days to be numbered, fine, I’ll give them some numbers. I didn’t even know who "they" were.

I got home and put pen to paper (actually finger to calculator), and I started numbering my days with wild abandon.

I figured out that, as of my writing this column, I have been alive for 20,619 days. There – I numbered that!

I was born on Day 1, and it was a great day! That young airman and his wife were very happy to have a healthy new son.

Little did I know that on Day 325 my sweetheart was born and that I would first lay eyes on her on Day 8,848. On Day 12,430 I married her. That was a FANTASTIC day! How did I ever live 12,429 days without her?

On Day 14,297, my oldest daughter was adopted in China. My youngest was adopted from China on Day 16,986. Those were two of the very best days of my life!

On Day 6,761, I graduated from high school, and Day 20,601 was one that I wasn’t sure that I’d be around to see. My oldest daughter graduated with honors from her high school that day.

I could go on and on and count the many wonderful days of my life.

There have been some tough days, as well.  On Day 10,316 my mom passed away, followed by Day 14,740 when my dad left us.

I was officially diagnosed with multiple myeloma on Day 18,239. The good news? I have been alive for 2,380 days since then ... and counting.

While I try hard to not worry too much about the future, I know that my days are numbered. Of course, myeloma may hasten my last days, but until then, I’ll keep counting the good ones.

And I’m wishing many good days ahead for you!