I should’ve known he was a jerk the day we met. But there I was, a widow, out there in the world of online dating trying to get my sea legs. I knew him from high school, not well mind you but I looked for any connection that would tell me he was “the one”. What I didn’t tell him was that I had breast cancer.
You see, on the outside you couldn’t tell. I still had my boob, still had my hair. I didn’t yet look like a sick person. I spent my 32nd birthday with him that summer as I waded through a sea of MRI’s, blood tests, and biopsies.
What could’ve been my last birthday was certainly not memorable. We went out to dinner where HE wanted to go, talked about what was important to HIM, as I sat there wondering what the hell I was doing with him. My luke warm feelings for him were quite the understatement. But as I faced my own mortality I was feeling luke warm about most everything that summer. I couldn’t even justify it by saying I was in lust with him. Nope, no physical attraction there on my part. Then what? The only thing I can come up with was fearing nobody would want me when I lost a boob, nobody would want someone with breast cancer. If I get him to like me enough when I break the news to him maybe he won’t leave.
But Paul should be the one to take care of me I thought to myself. This was worse than sloppy seconds. This was nothing. Nothing I was trying with all my heart to make into something.