It happened. I was in deep lust with a man who owned a Sports Chiropractic Clinic. Not only did Dr. D have one of the most successful practices in my thriving metropolis, he was also a published author.keep reading…
“Sh*t, d*mn, uggggh where are my effing keys?!” I screamed aloud while fumbling in my purse and grabbing a black blazer from my bedroom closet. I had to meet my coworkers downtown at a very luxe sushi restaurant in half hour. Except, with traffic, it would take me at least an hour.keep reading sis…
“How’d it go last night with the new guy?” I woke up to begin my morning nebulizations with that message popping up on facebook from one of my fellow cysters.keep reading
As much as I write about (and enjoy) one night stands, if I were to be completely honest with myself- what I really want and hope for one day, is to fall madly in love.
In the far corners of my mind, I think about sitting on a porch and growing old with somebody. My husband will tell me a joke and it probably wont be that funny, but I will laugh for him. With him. And my mind will retreat away from the present and into the past, every heart ache, every IV, every medicine.
Every time I thought I wanted to give up on life and just fade slowly- some spark in my soul has caused me to dismiss that notion and fight. That moment, on that porch, with that man, is the moment that keeps me fighting despite my body wanting to rest forever.
Although I am not able to pin down attributes I want in my Mr. Right, I am able to pin down attributes in myself I need to have before I know I will meet him. One attribute I am consistently working on, is improving my physical fitness. I work out multiple times a week and have competed in several 5ks & 10ks. I’m not where I want to be physically but I am getting very close.
Imagine my delight when I met Mr. Tough Mudder, a very sexy yet calm man in his early 50’s who spent his career in the mortgage/loan business. Recently laid off, he was focusing on opening several CrossFit Gyms & just competed in a Tough Mudder Competition. He hiked in his spare time up several mountainsides, ran 15 miles a day, and judging from his biceps- was no stranger to push ups.
I met Mr. Tough Guy for margaritas in a classy Spanish restaurant. He admired my ambition and we connected instantly over our love for eating the right foods and working out regularly. I just failed to share that I had CF and that my workouts wouldn’t quite be in line with running up the mountains.
After a drink, he asked permission to invite his friends out as well. They were in town for a charity event and the words “charity event” had me completely sold. Mr. Tough Guy actively volunteers in the community and I could see myself volunteering with him for our next date.
His friends were just as polite and we all shared some tortilla chips and another round. Wonderful laughs and all in all, a great first date. The friends left and he asked permission to walk me to my car.
As we approached, he leaned in to kiss me. His hand stayed in the appropriate place as his lips gently caressed mine. Soft and sensual. Just a moment in time without any preconceived notions about going back to his place or taking it any further than a lingering kiss.
Second date, he picked me up and took me to a very high end restaurant in the suburbs. We shared a bottle of vintage Roth. Great conversation and we found out that we had very similar childhoods despite our massive age difference. I don’t like to jump to conclusions, but I was already planning our 3rd date…
However, during the time it was taking for this to cultivate, I noticed my weight started to plunge. I lost about 9 lbs in 2 weeks and although I felt fine, I started waking up in the middle of the night coughing. I would sleep in later and needed a power nap in the afternoon. General fatigue? Something more? I scheduled a doctor appointment to find out.
Psuedomonous aeruginosa is a particular type of lung infection that I cultivate. It was back. Time to be admitted into the hospital for what we don the “tune up”. It’s a lot like getting your car serviced, regular intervals of servicing keep it going long -term, but the vehicle can’t be driven. Just as I am coordinating when to check in to the hospital, Mr. Tough Guy calls.
I come clean and tell him about CF and that I am going to be admitted to the hospital when the unthinkable happens.
Ready to read round 2?
I sit there in the waiting room, looking down quietly at my phone as I read the text.
It has only been 2 months since my last hospitalization, a sure sign that Cystic Fibrosis is progressing. My lungs simply…are losing their stability. One chronic infection after another and I am starting to build up resistance to the only medication that exists to save me.
“Can I come up there right now to be with you?” Sure, I’ve had boyfriends feel it was their obligation to visit when I am hospitalized, but to sit with me in the waiting room as I find out what day I will be admitted, as I hack up mucous into sputum cups to send to the lab, as a 3/4 inch needle is attached to my chest…this is new.
I reply that his gesture is entirely unnecessary and I have checked myself into a hospital before, so no need for him to drive 20 minutes to sit with me for the next 30.
The problem is, he’s adamant. He wants to be there. I quit replying to his messages. This is MY life, MY failing health, MY struggle. I’m not ready to share it with a man I just met. Two days later, I’m hooked up to my IV machine and going through chest physiotherapy.
“Can I visit? Can I bring you anything?” He texts. I thought I was ready for love.
As Carrie Bradshaw once said, “I’m looking for love, real love. Ridiculous. Inconvenient. Consuming. Can’t-Live-Without-Each-Other-Love. ” And here, I am, completely vulnerable, with a man who wants to bring me dinner and sit with me in the hospital. Yet…I can’t bring myself to reply.
He never did anything wrong, he never said the wrong thing. He was polite and genuinely cared to be there for me, despite only being on a few dates. So why couldn’t I let him?
I delete the message. And the next.
-I never reply to The Senior Loan Officer again-
I’ve taken awhile off of dating since my body basically started to shut down on me. I look and feel great for the first 5 weeks, but it’s that 6th week where the sound of my coughing overshadows the sound of my laughing. I begin to walk with lungs full of infection, and I know it is time for IVs.
I took the radical decision to quit my day job and go on government help, hopefully to focus on my health enough to extend the time period between IVs an extra week or two. However, in between lifting weights at the gym, I happened to meet a man who repairs helicopters for the Navy locally. We decided to do happy hour at Applebee’s and I was optimistic.
Bulging muscles and a winning smile, we shared sarcastic bantar prior to ordering. Then he asked coyly, “so…what do you do for a living?” First time I’ve ever had to think of an answer. Geesshh…how do I tell the guy who just saw me at the gym- I live off his tax money because any moment I’ll be back on IV therapy fighting a genetic lung disease?! So…naturally…I told a little white lie.
“I work remotely for a nonprofit.” He asked what the hours were like, which I stated, part time. He then started to laugh about how great it must be to roll out of bed in my PJs, go to the gym, put a few hours in. Then said my worst fear, “I could never be that lazy”. Bssh. I never thought I could be either. I never thought in my wildest dreams, a career in being a professional CF patient would be looming.
I quickly changed the subject after saying “yeah, it pays the bills but I read a lot because I get bored quickly”. We laughed a lot and got along very well…that is until CF moment #2 of the night came up. He told a joke unintentionally and I couldn’t help but laugh. For the most part, I didn’t wheeze but held back the cough. And then, it happened. Wretched, flu-like, chesty, mucousal cough. He didn’t seem to notice. Then, it happened again. And again. Hacking over wings and ice tea, I excused myself to the rest room.
I came back to a weird look which I explained, “I’m not contagious, I promise”. Didn’t matter…moment was over. We stayed there for another hour and I was able to hide my cough until the walk to the car. A quick hug later, I am driving off- pretty sure will never hear from him again.
CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: do you have a juicy story of dating with your condition and want to submit it for a feature? msg us!
Mr. Doesn’t Deserve a Name
- FROM THE ARCHIVES Written in 2014
2nd date with a man I previously never mentioned was tonight. We agreed to meet at Chipotle and then I got to pick the movie afterwards. I’m not really sure what he does for a living, which is odd because I usually try to get that information just after I get their name. I am sure he is a blue -collar type which, I realize, is not my typical crush. I realize though as I am aging, I may need to relax my standards.
Reasonably attractive, somewhat introverted, and blue collar early 30’s no name man finished ordering his burrito while I pulled out my debit card and paid for dinner. I also normally NEVER pay. The plan was burritos then a movie, I got to pick.
I started a new medication a few days ago. It’s called the Tobi Podhaler and it is a way of getting an antibiotic into my lungs in a faster way than a nebulizer by crushing a pill of the medication and inhaling it. However, the first few days, it always makes my voice raspy. It would be sexy actually- if not for the fact I’m flirting over a $7 burrito. We were laughing and getting along actually great!
He then asked, “so why are you sick today?” I had two choices. Girl up and tell him I have Cystic Fibrosis or just say “allergies”. I figured I would be upfront. “Well it’s a genetic condition, not is NOT contagious. Every few months I go on new medications and they weaken my vocal cords”.
He asked what the disease was and a few questions like: symptoms (cough), can you die (everybody can), and how long I’ve had it (forever). I watched his face as I answered the questions. He abruptly finished eating and then stood up to drop off his tray in the trash. I wasn’t finished but followed suit.
We were rather silent on way to movies, but I figured he would come around. Not a bit. We stopped at Target to get snacks where he abruptly commented “get your own snacks because I don’t share”… Um…no thank you.
After he got himself an assortment of butterfingers, twizzlers, and m&ms, we found ourselves standing outside the movie. He bought his ticket and then I bought mine (this time I was surprised he didn’t even offer).
We walked in and I followed as he walked to the top seat. All of the stairs and I started to cough. I hid it for the most part but there were a few dry heaves. Overall, I was excited for the movie and the back row- because I envisioned him putting at least his arm around me and whispering, “do you like the show?”…. jerk or not, I still liked the idea of an arm around me.
As previews started, he turned his body away slightly to gorge himself into a mini-diabetic coma. After resurfacing, his body faced the screen and his shoulders stayed tilted away. I couldn’t figure out what adjective described his mannerisms..and then- it hit me.
Repulsion. Genuine repulsion. Body language tilted away, wrinkle on his nose, distant look.
And sweetly, I looked at my candy, offered him to have it because he was clearly hungry.
Got up, walked out.
Went to the restroom to look at the face of the warrior in the mirror, trying to convince myself I was worthy of love. I wasn’t even born worthy of breathing, how could I ever find love? Acceptance?
I don’t know how or where it came from, but the voice in my head pleaded with me to change that narrative.
The tears welled up and I started to break down. I went to the handicapped stall for privacy and wadded toilet paper up under my eyes, to catch the tears that freely fell as I listened to my mind tell me how all of my insecurities are worth it.
After exhausting myself, I had the thought, “maybe just maybe, he wasn’t repulsed by me or what it means to date someone who is ill, maybe just maybe, he’s grappling with his own insecurities and the reality that he isn’t the kind of man who is strong enough to take this battle on.”
And I stood up, flushed the tissues, put on a fresh coat of lipgloss, and drove myself to a country bar. Strong enough to start again. Strong enough to know I deserve more and I will never allow myself to be treated like that again.