Relationships

Firstly, please don’t think that this post is a ‘how to’ manual, or a way to fix anything that you might think is broken in your life. I shall tell you why.

I don’t understand attraction. 

I don’t get why some men make my stomach swim, and bring a throb as the blood rushes, tingling between my legs, and some (perfectly handsome and attractive men) do nothing at all for me. 

But I do know

that the moment when you’re about to kiss, and you’re too close for this to be something socially acceptable, and there’s a moments pause, is the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever felt.

I don’t know why, (friends, please excuse this moment of bragging) when I have in my time been toned and trim I didn’t receive a second glance at the bar. When a butcher’s dog wouldn’t have had anything on me, I spent so long either single, or going on pretty poor (often first and only) dates. 

But I do know that a warm and secure hug from a friend or lover, can make tears well in my eyes at the honest beauty of a genuine human connection. 

Now that the introduction is done, let me tell you a short story. It’s about a woman, let’s call her, oh I don’t know…Michelle, who almost started dating a few weeks after a mastectomy and a few weeks before starting chemo. He was an acquaintance, they’d met at a few gigs in the past, and they’d chatted online, increasingly, which had felt good. They shared some interests, and he was tall and handsome (still is, as it happens). They agreed to go to the same event, not a date you understand, but merely a meeting up. Two people who like the same thing. It was a nice day, and as she put her first foob into her bra, and looked at herself in the mirror, Michelle felt her inner critic scanning her face to check all was ok, which under the circumstances was about as good as it would get. It was ok, a smudge of eye makeup, hair done, but nothing too much. The foob was too small really, being the soft, pin-cushion style one for after the operation, not the fitted, sized real prosthetic that would come later when things were properly healed. It was ok. A splash of perfume. Not a date, remember? 

They went to the thing, the event was fine, the company was good, the weather even managed to be atypical for Manchester with sunlight gently warming the afternoon. When they parted, they hugged. Nothing more. A nice day. Back at home, Michelle started to worry, she was feeling a bit giddy, and as though it had been a date. He’d been a gentleman all day, she realised that she wanted to see him again. If you’re expecting the lovely, advert-ready ending here, where they date and it’s all marvellous, sorry. 

Rightly, Michelle thought to herself - what sort of a muppet starts dating just before they start chemotherapy? So she gently backed away. After all, she had all kinds of things to deal with, and thinking about going on dates was just daft at that moment. Away on her own, Michelle got on with things. Roughly the order went - chemo started, hair fell out. More chemo. Christmas, New Year, more chemo. Chemo finished, work restarted. 

She learned that he had started dating someone else, Michelle swallowed her disappointment at missing the ridiculously timed chance she’d had, resolved to be a good friend, and when asked, offered advice on good places to go for dancing. Some things were just not meant to work out. 

Summer happened, and a charity bike ride, (which Michelle was woefully unprepared for, only good catering got her through) and the handsome man helped her with the cycling questions that she had before the ride. Chatting slowly started back up again online. Michelle had another mastectomy to reduce her risk of recurrence of the great cancer, with no reconstruction, leaving her flat, and scarred, almost right across. Back out of hospital, still sporting dressings, she learned that he was now single. They met up again. They hugged, shyly sat closer, and after what had been some time, got too close for it to be socially acceptable and kissed. 

So far, it’s been a bonkers journey, four years this year, and I know I’m certainly not perfect. But the handsome man and I are still together. We talk about the weird things that happen because of my medication. The unpredictability of my feelings and behaviour. I try and explain, as best I can. He’s wonderful, loving, and understanding. He makes my stomach swim.  

So that’s us. For me, relationships aren’t easy. Although of course I am very glad to still be here, typing away above the ground, I do mourn the person that I have lost through my illness and my medication. I try not to wish that things were different, but sometimes I just have to accept that there are days when that’s how it feels. I remind myself, (as does he) that my inner critic is wrong about me being not all woman any more, about me being lacking, for there’s a handsome man who cares about me very much. 

I don’t know why this relationship came round, when I was least looking for it. I don’t have any advice to make it happen. All I can say is that I know, things change over time, for all relationships, and you must be open and talk about things to allow that special other person into your head. I also know that you are wonderful and attractive because you are you. The skin you’re in matters not a jot.