And by things, I mean gravity starts to go all "Game of Thrones" on your body. The truth is by the time you turn 50, things do start to happen.If they haven’t, might they be paradoxically, albeit unconsciously replicating the very types of experiences that traumatized them in the first place?These are the questions I’ll address in an effort to make some sense of the nonsensical dynamics of online dating.For example, serial online dating requires a lack of commitment to any one person.The paradox is that this type of dating often serves as a breeding ground for cheating behavior.Lost both the girls to surgery, all my body hair to chemo and by the time I finished radiation, my chest looked like I’d had a run-in with one of Khaleesi’s dragons. But mainly, I watch a lot of Netflix and count the days until I’m done with reconstruction. Apparently, everybody aged 18 to 88 is looking for a hookup, but I’m just not in a hookup kind of place. It’s flabby here and flawed there and I’m rocking a set of Frankenboobs that could put a dent in a Buick. The burns eventually faded and most of my hair grew back but the breasts were another matter. And, as they say, “work.” Right now I’m in the middle of reconstruction and my chest looks and feels like I’m wearing a coconut bra under my skin. Needless to say, between the cancer crap and the getting old crap, the thought of dating, sex and — gulp — getting naked with somebody for the first time is about as appealing as a colonoscopy. Guys in their 40s and 50s write to me, too, and a lot of them are usually quite charming — up to the point I give them my cell number and they send me a “melfie,” aka a selfie of their member. I guess I’m holding out for the real meal deal — somebody worthwhile, maybe even age appropriate who’s got a few battle scars of their own. But it’s also a powerhouse that’s kicked cancer to the curb and bootstrapped its way through multiple surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, two years of boxing classes and complications of every stripe.
But we still have a lot to learn about it…and ourselves.
We’re supposed to love our bodies, embrace our “battle scars.” But I’ve been at war the last three years and I freely admit to having mixed feelings about the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
I got hit with breast cancer in the spring of 2011.
What’s unexpected, what blows my mind, is that I also hear from children: gorgeous 22-year-old children with messy hair and mushy faces who urgently text “I wanna git witchoo 2nite!
process somewhat extensively, addressing its pros and cons.