Picture this: You’re in a bar, and a guy a few seats over starts flirting.
Soon, you’re sharing personal detailsthe last movie you’ve seen, music you like.
For me, that’s when things get uncomfortable, especially when all his friends are standing around listening.
Because I’m not working.
Almost three years ago, I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer.
Among other things, I can’t have kids and I have a disfigured right breast.
That I can’t work?
That statistically, I don’t have long to live?
That the fact that I’ve made it two years is a miracle?
Boy, am I a catch!
When I do manage to explain, guys say, “So, you’re cured, right?”
and I’ll say, “No.
Stage IV cancer is not curable.”
And they’ll say, “Wow.
That’s heavy.”
THE WORST DATE EVEROddly, my breast cancer odyssey began on a date.
Soon, he ran his hand across my breast and all the action stopped.
“Do you know you have a lump?”
he asked, looking worried.
That definitely killed the mood.
Not surprisingly, we didn’t have sex.
Mastitis, they called it.
But they were wrong.
Finally, after a suspicious ultrasound, one doctor ordered a biopsy.
The official diagnosis, which I got after six weeks, was stage IV metastatic breast cancer.
I was given a year to live.
But while Jake and I became friends, I fell in love with Luis.
He oozed so much passion, I figured I’d found my McSteamy.
Wig on or wig off, it didn’t matter.
In some ways, the sex was lifesaving; it helped take my mind off everything that was happening.
I’ve always had a hunger for life, and the diagnosis only intensified that.
I was devastated, and I still had breast surgery and radiation to get through.
All of this took a toll on Luis, too.
He stuck with me through the chemo, but I know the whole thing wore on him.
He had become my cosurvivor, something he said he didn’t sign up for.
(Hell, neither did I.)
But I think he was done with me and my diagnosis.
So we ended it, and he helped me move back into my apartment.
I was heartbroken, but really, how could I blame him?
This was my battle to fight.
But I was also very scared of being rejected.
It was hard to compete.
I’d tell them, “I’ve got heavy baggage!”
Mostly, my attitude about meeting men was “I’ve been through the wringer.
By that time, I didn’t look sickly, and I hadn’t had a recurrence.
So when Steve called a few days later, I asked, “Do you know about my situation?
Are you sure you want to go out?”
And he said, “None of us knows what will happen tomorrow.
We’re all at risk.”
So I felt reassured, and we made a date.
At first, I didn’t let on about all I’d been through.
But before I could stop him, Steve ran the bath for me, lit candles and got in.
I remember thinking, Thank God there are bubbles; at least I can hide my chest.
But Steve didn’t seem to care what I looked like.
He started kissing my breast and being very nurturing.
Still, I dreaded getting naked in the light of day.
I know how the male mind operates: Breasts are a big part of the package.
So I tried to make up for it with my ass.
But the relationship helped me feel more confident; after him, I knew I’d date again.
Now I address the elephant in the roomwhen a guy asks, “What do you do?”
I say, “I’m a survivor of advanced breast cancer and a patient advocate.
I’ve been in treatment, I’m healing and I’m celebrating my life.”
It’s not simply about me being at ease; it’s about putting others at ease.
Then I’ll see him with a girl at the next table.
But most people end up inspired, because it’s truly about how you handle it.
In my mind, the biggest highs in life are love, sex and having orgasms.
I consider it part of my therapy; it’s one of the ways I heal myself.
We had a lot of fun together, and we all stayed in touch.
Then, a few months ago, I got the chance to fly east to visit him.
He had a girlfriend when we met, but that was over.
He looked down at it and said, “I don’t care!”
Then he said, “Stefanie, look at meI have one testicle!
I had to get it removed when I was 3 because it never descended.
We’re a perfect pair.”
Mostly, I’m trying to enjoy new love.
Right now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
I’m living a no-bulls— kind of life.
Just waking up every day is an orgasman emotional orgasm.
I know there are more ahead of me.
I live for that.
Photo Credit: Michael Larsen
