Layered Loneliness

I think back to the start of my breast cancer experience five years ago. The struggle to just survive the toxic treatments, multiple surgeries, blood transfusions, and complications post-treatment makes me wonder why am I still here? I was initially filled with such hope once I was officially declared as no evidence of disease – I refuse to say cancer free.

I am now infertile and in medically induced menopause well before my time.

I have fibromyalgia.

I have neuropathy in my hands and feet.

I have a bulging disc and slight tear near the nerve in my back.

And I discovered in January I have two benign lesions on my spine that need to be monitored.

I get so angry when I hear the following comments:

  • “Just be grateful you’re alive.”
  • “Cancer doesn’t define you.”
  • “Be happy you’re single.”

As I listened to various cancer conferences this month, the bulk of the female presenters often begin their talks with how they fought cancer to be there for their kids. Do they ever think about how crushing that is to hear as a single cancer survivor? I don’t mean anyone who divorced during or after treatment. I’m talking about the survivors like me who were single at the start of diagnosis and still single post-cancer.

When I think about it, I honestly didn’t have much motivation to “fight” to survive my cancer treatments. The main reason I did was for my beloved mother and cat Nathan (Natey) Edgar. That’s it.

I am single.

I often feel very alone.

I’m an only child.

My life post-cancer still feels quite isolating.

I don’t have many local friends. I know a lot of people locally, and have many acquaintances, but there is only one who I talk to weekly and would hang out with once a month before the pandemic. The bulk of my friends are out of state and in other counties. Many of them are married with children, or they have a significant other. I don’t really know many single and childless people – male or female.

I always hear that I should just get out there and date. Any guy would be lucky to have me. Well, I would say that would be a true statement, but my color makes dating tough. That’s a whole other story for another day. Now that I am in menopause and in chronic pain 24/7 makes dating feel impossible. The only time my dating life was pretty active, and fun was when I lived in LA in my early to mid-20’s.

I’ve tried so many different medications, surgeries, and supplements to help ease the pain, but nothing has fully worked effectively. What people don’t understand about fibromyalgia is being touched can cause horrific pain. It makes sleep difficult. It makes exercising difficult. It makes simply existing difficult. Then add permanent neuropathy in my feet makes walking difficult.

When I did try dating a little a year post-cancer, I remember one guy asked why I was walking so stiffly. I thought I could hide how painful it can be to even step onto a sidewalk or go up steps. I didn’t bother saying it’s due to cancer. Instead, I said I was sore from working out earlier that day.

How can I even think of dating when I literally cannot hide the physical pain?

Are there any single and childless cancer survivors who are also only children? It’s like lonely, on top lonely, on top of lonely. This is the one time being the only one isn’t an advantage.

Until next time,

Warrior Megsie

When the Strong Weep 5.0

I was dealing with depression and anxiety long before cancer. Now I feel the most fragile I’ve ever felt. Just when I think I have a handle on things, everything explodes. I’ve written about this in the past. What happens when the strong need to weep? They weep alone.

I’ve struggled finding people to talk to and let my guard down, really and truly let my guard down. What tends to happen is they listen for a few minutes and then inevitably tell me the following:

You’re so strong.

You’ve got this.

Be positive.

This goes on for a few minutes until the shift happens where I become their therapist and shoulder their pain and their fears.  They assume I’ll be just fine and can handle anything.

When others can’t handle hearing your fears or darkness because your “normal” personality is sunny and zany, that’s pressure to always appear okay. That’s my current situation. Heck, it’s been my ongoing situation.

The chronic pain makes it harder to keep my emotions in-check. I no longer have the energy to keep up the appearance of being okay. I don’t get a break from what my cancer treatments and multiple surgeries have done to me. I wake up hurting every morning and go to bed hurting every night.

I’ve been very down on myself about my weight and being chronically single. I grow even more frustrated with being told the following:

Weight isn’t everything.

Dating or relationships are overrated.

You’re your own worst critic.

Not understanding my body and loneliness just adds to my depression.

Sure, I’m resilient. I don’t know where that comes from, but I somehow always get back up after being slammed to the ground over and over and over again. I’ve wanted to give up, but my nature just won’t let me.

I don’t want to be alone.

It’s not fair.

It’s not easy.

Wading through the darkness while leaping from one friend to another, sharing spurts of what’s hurting the soul but knowing there’s no one shoulder big enough to hold all your darkness is my daily struggle.

This is what strong people do.

Is dating off the table?

This question is more complex than it was before cancer.  I honestly don’t know what to think anymore. I’ve heard of others meeting “the one” during treatment and after. I’m boggled by that.

Who has the energy?

Who has the sex drive?

Who has the funds?

I’ve been a body I don’t recognize since my 35th birthday, which is when I believe the cancer started growing. That’s when my thyroid got out of whack and major weight gain occurred. Even though my energy was somewhat lacking, I was still dating back then.

I’ve had my heart shattered once and deeply hurt once. I had begun to date myself and take time for personal growth when the cancer beast reared its ugly head. Dating was not even a remote thought once the cyclone of appointments swept me up.

I’ve been 43 years old for a month and starting to feel lonely. My life has been so busy trying to heal, battling long-term side effects from chemo, surgeries and radiation, serious depression and anxiety, chronic pain, medical leave, then more surgery and now I’ve had time to really process all that has happened since the cancer call on 9/14/15.

Things won’t magically become all right once I meet the ‘right’ guy.

I can’t expect to find happiness through someone.

I can’t keep waiting for someone to take care of me.

I don’t think like the woman I once was either. I’m jaded. I don’t even watch romance movies anymore. I used to be a sucker for those. I don’t read trashy romance books anymore either.

It’s like a light switch was turned off once I was medically induced into menopause at 40. Losing so many body parts all at once did something to me. I feel hollow. The only thing that makes me still feel like a woman are my tears.

I hear all the time “the right man will love you at your worst.” Well, I think many of you will agree that men are very visual creatures. Sure, I have a pretty face, but not a pretty body.

My body is scarred.

My body is numb in certain areas.

My body radiates and burns with pain.

My body is out of shape and struggling.

My body is utterly fatigued.

How can I date in such a low physical state? It was hard facing rejection when I was stick thin. I sure as hell can’t handle rejection looking and feeling like this.

I also realized that I can’t date a regular guy. I’ve nearly died. I’ve been through something life shattering and life altering. How do I make small talk about trauma? I don’t think lightly anymore.

Does that mean I need to meet someone also has/had cancer in order to relate? Hmm…

Until next time,

Warrior Megsie