Has it really been four years since my mastectomy? It seems surreal, as if this experience happened to another person. I didn't think I would make it past January 2012, and here I am four years later writing another entry into my blog.
Although I haven't posted in several months, my many lessons and experiences regarding cancer continue. Some have made such a tremendous impact that it has taken many months to absorb what happened.
One of my concerns during my journey to wellness has been on dating and intimacy. In February 2015 I attended a cancer support meeting at a local hospital. When the facilitator of the group asked what motivated me to attend, I responded, "I'm afraid and embarrassed to start dating again. I don't know what to expect." The counselor and other participants were empathetic to my concerns, and they shared with me their most intimate ideas on the topic. One couple said their love transcended any physical condition. The husband explained it didn't matter if his wife no longer had breasts; his love for her was unconditional. One person revealed she and her spouse hadn't had intercourse in 12 years due to his heart condition; that there are many ways to "make love" that does not involve physical penetration.
That evening I felt a sense of relief. I remember crying myself to sleep.
When I was in my 20's and 30's, I danced professionally. In 2015 I began expressing my sensuality via dance. I felt comfortable again in "my own skin." I volunteered at a local theater, which is an appropriate venue to meet creative men. The gym flourishes with men in the 50+ community. As I opened up my social arena, I also opened up myself to meeting more potential dates, and possibly a suitable companion.
The months passed ... the seasons changed. There's the old cliche, "When you least expect it ..." In November, just two months ago, I attended a Memorial Service and luncheon. The most peculiar thing happened at the luncheon: I found myself eating alone at a table. (Each time I approached a table to join family or friends, there was no extra room.) Within a few minutes a handsome gentleman asked if he could join me. Apparently, the same thing happened to him: he found himself without a table. Ironically, it was if Roger and I were "forced" together.
Our conversation flowed effortlessly. It was as if nobody else existed in the banquet hall except the two of us. Roger was widowed for several years. Ironically, his deceased wife and I share the same name, and we are of the same nationality. She died of breast cancer. Ours was no coincidental encounter. After three hours it seemed as if we had known each other for decades; there was so much we had in common. We exchanged phone numbers, and our good-bye hug ignited feelings that had been dormant. I felt rejuvenated.
Three days passed before Roger and I talked on the phone; those were the longest three days of my life ... or so it seemed. The conversation revealed more than we had in common. I was excited that I had a special person to share Christmas and New Year's with. Due to previous family commitments, we were unable to spend time together on Christmas Eve or Day, but we did manage to break away from the celebrations to talk.
On Christmas Day I said a prayer of gratitude to have this special gift, this man, in my life. But, inside I sensed something was a bit "off." That evening I said a prayer that my heart be guarded from any unnecessary emotional pain ... that if there was anything that prevented him from loving me the way I deserve, let it be revealed. I had a "lump" in the pit of my stomach. "It's just your imagination," I kept telling myself.
Roger arrived at my house with a dozen long-stemmed roses on December 26th. We hugged and kissed, and again I sensed as if something was "wrong." That evening over dinner we laughed and joked; everything was great. Later that night at my place I sensed a restlessness within Roger, and I asked what was wrong. He replied, "Nothing. I'm great!" But, I could see a sadness in his eyes. I asked if he felt happy about his upcoming retirement. I wasn't prepared for what happened next. Roger explained he was afraid about having extra time on his hands to think because he had unresolved issues, some from childhood. He then confided his deepest, most innermost secrets to me.
I listened and was dumbfounded by what he revealed. It was like a scene from the Streisand / Nolte movie "The Prince of Tides." Roger was able to release what had been haunting him for many years. But unlike the Streisand/Nolte characters in the movie, Roger and I didn't have a passionate love affair. We said our final "good-byes" at 7:42PM on December 26, 2015.
From that encounter I witnessed first-hand that a crippling attitude can be more devastating than a potentially crippling disease. I wish Roger well, and pray that he heals completely from his emotional scars.
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