Ugh, I can’t believe I’m even writing this post, but for some reason certain things have been weighing heavily on my mind recently. I’m really expressing alot here–Crazy girl!
So, there’s a man out there I just can’t seem to stop thinking of. And let me just say, it’s been like this for a while. I wish I could get him out of my head, I really do! My last encounters with him I thought would have done the trick, clearly amiss, but they didn’t. Is it that I have this odd, long-standing attraction to a man who wants nothing to do with me (for good reason–I’ve acted like a jerk, lunatic and total loser) because I’m going through all of this single, or is it something more? I don’t know, it’s hard.
For me, I know it has alot to do with everything I’ve been going through for some time. All this cancer crap! Having to decide on whether to remove your reproductive organs and mammary glands and of course the big-C, even the thought of it, really puts a kink in things. I haven’t even mentioned the other incredibly major, life-altering events that have plagued my life the past few years (yes, aside from being BRCA1 and now having breast cancer). Then there’s the weight issue. I have to overcome all the hurtles in my mind about all of this. It’s only making it a lonely experience for me.
The other day I read another woman’s blog post, also a breast cancer survivor, who talked of her first dating experience after cancer treatment. The man asked her about her visible, port scar. Something she wasn’t quite prepared to discuss on a casual date. She wondered if other women had similar experiences or could offer any advice.
For some women, the scars of breast cancer, both physically and psychologically, never factor into their identity as a woman. For others, it matters a great deal, especially if you’re fairly young and single. I wish I could be in the first group, but I’m just not there yet. Some women are completely okay with lopping off their breasts entirely with no reconstruction, ever. You go sisters! My breasts are a part of my identity. However, now they’re trying to kill me, so they kinda have to go.
Yesterday at treatment I saw a young couple around my age. Husband and wife. The wife has cancer and the husband was there for support. He’d help her to the restroom, just sit with her and from time to time get up to get various things for her. It was nice to see, but at the same time hard to watch.
Several friends have said that this is just something I have to get through first. It just blows going it alone.