A few months ago, I told a friend of mine that I thought a certain male friend of her’s was attractive. He’s a rare breed in that he’s good looking, over 35 with a stable career. She agreed that we had a lot in common. I had never spoken more than a few words to him, so all I had to go on was my attraction and her assessment. Soon after our conversation, my friend arranged a happy hour after work so I could get to know him in a group setting. He was very friendly and easy to talk to, so I felt like there might be some mutual interest.

After that, my other friends got involved and were kind of making a big deal out of it. I felt like we were in high school again and that the whole school was aware of my crush on the popular guy. I started avoiding eye contact whenever I saw him, which was almost every day. When we would run into each other at happy hours, after downing some liquid courage, I would attempt to talk to him, but it was always very brief. I had one friend in particular who monopolized his time and seemed to thwart my efforts.

I was frustrated because, I didn’t even get a chance to find out if I really liked him or not. One day, I told another friend, who had instigated a lot of this, that I was going to make my move. What I meant by that, was that I was just going to go up to him and start a conversation. I don’t know what she thought I meant, but she told me that he was pretty gun shy of women these days and that I should just give up. I felt like I was rejected even before I started anything. So, after that, I just continued to ignore him.

The last time we went out as a group, I was going to try again, but I drank too much wine and ended up making out with some younger guy in front of everyone. After that, my friends decided that this was a lost cause.

Today, I found out that he has been sleeping with one of my coworkers. Now, I feel like I had my chance and I blew it. Now that I have nothing to lose, I want to tell him that I’m interested. Should I?

Snoozed, Now Am I Lost?

Dear S.N.A.I.L.

Remember when you were in school and you would get in trouble or make a bad grade. The teachers would threaten you with your permanent record. (Real life example: “Young lady, you better stop doing back flips in class or I’ll send you to the principal’s office and it will be on your permanent record!”) Well, that kind of permanent record was an idle threat, but when we make mistakes in life, it ends up on a sort of cosmic permanent record, meaning, the deed was done, you can’t go back in time to do it over, so the only thing left is to learn from it.

If you tell him how you feel now, you will be interfering with his budding relationship. That will only make you look desperate and sleazy. But, if you review what you could have done differently in this situation, you will be prepared for the next round of potential fix-ups.

With every relationship comes the potential for rejection. You simply have to weigh the risk against the benefit. If someone is worth pursuing, they are worth risking rejection. Look back at your relationships. Did you wait for them to come to you? How many of them were psychos? Women, or men, for that matter, who take no responsibility for finding a mate, are quite often magnets for needy, crazy people. If you want to change that, you have to start working up the courage to pursue the men you really want. Isn’t it better to be rejected by someone you respect than by some loser who just showed up at your doorstep?

The other day, I was having lunch at a restaurant with a girlfriend. While we were discussing this very subject, a man in a wheelchair approached our table. He was skillfully flirtatious and by the time he left our table, he had my business card and a future lunch date. Despite his disability, he was confident enough to take the initiative with regard to meeting women. We can all learn from him. Relationship-wise, we are all disabled in one way or another. Whether we believe we are too fat or old or poor to find love, it ‘s merely our beliefs that are holding us back, not the reality of our flaws.

It’s arrogant for anyone to feel they are above rejection. Everyone hates it, not just you. The only way to conquer a fear is to live it. Start making the first move. After a few rejections and a few successes, you will be able to put it into perspective and ultimately conquer the fear. It’s about taking action. If you’re out of shape, you go to the gym. You don’t sit on the couch and cry about it. Stop dwelling on the past and start flexing your seduction muscles.

You need to face the fact that you blew your chances with this guy. But, just because that ship has sailed, doesn’t mean there won’t be more on the horizon. Open your eyes and take a chance next time. You never had anything to lose in the first place.

Robbie Lynn
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I have been divorced for four years and for that reason alone, Gayle and I have been passively estranged. During my 14 year marriage, we lived only a few miles from her and my ex-husband’s father, so we had been close for a lot of years. I’m not sure why we don’t have much contact now. My ex remarried shortly after our divorce and I suspect his new wife was insecure about his past. She had three boys to raise, so she was strategic about clearing out any obstacles to the creation of her new family. This meant that my two daughters and I needed to fade into the background.

Still, Gayle has always been there when I needed her. She would periodically stop in to see me at work, invariably bringing me gifts. She always seemed to come at the most crucial times. I remember one day I woke up in a state of panic. My account was overdrawn and it was not even close to payday. My cell phone was disconnected, the electricity was about to be shut off and I had no toilet paper. The only thing I could do was pray. Later that day, Gayle stopped by to see me at work and she presented me with a large check. She would always do that, without my asking. She just had a sense of when I was in real need of help.

I was always so moved, not only by her generosity, but by the fact that my prayers were answered so quickly. I remember telling my son about these miracles. How I would pray to God and Gayle would show up with the answer. He suggested rather cynically, that I should just skip the middle man and pray directly to Gayle.

And now, as I face the most frightening situation of my life, she shows up again to see me through.

As I walked back to the waiting room to tell her the verdict, I broke down. Gayle and I have always joked about our mutual unease with hugging and general expressions of our feelings. But, this situation changed all that. At that moment, it didn’t matter that we were no longer connected by marriage. What mattered was that there was a crisis and she was called to be there. It’s like cancer just erased all the little things from our past that had come between us. Athough I have my kids, lots of friends and a boyfriend, at that moment, I wouldn’t have trusted anyone more than Gayle.

It was a beautiful day. When we left the doctor’s office, neither of us knew what to do next. I wasn’t ready to start breaking the news to people. We decided to stall by going to the library. We got in Gayle's bright green VW Bug and rode in silence. I was still in a daze. When we got to the library, we decided to peruse the health section. There was a large collection of cancer related books. Gayle commented how many there were, which she thought was a good sign that so many people with cancer had lived to write books about it. I didn’t see what was so great about all those people getting cancer. It was a classic “half glass empty” kind of moment, making me realize that my negative attitude needed some adjustment.
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April 15, 2006

This journal is inspired by my cancer, but I want to make it clear that cancer isn’t the only story I have to tell. I can’t really start at the beginning, because I’m not sure when that was. As far as the ending, I’m not sure that the battle ever really ends. There is a lot that I don’t know. I think the only way to write about cancer is to present it the same way it presents itself. It isn’t logical or chronological. It isn’t sequential or mathematical. It isn't fair or unjust. It just is.

There is a lot of looking at the past. How it came to be. Why? What could I have done differently? And there is the fear of the future. How will I cope with treatment? What will happen to my body? Will anyone love me? Will I die of cancer? And the present is consumed by the realization that cancer has moved in, uninvited, to crash my party.

Tuesday, April 11th, was the day I was officially diagnosed with anal cancer. Yes, it’s pretty shitty to be diagnosed with ass cancer. The Friday before I had surgery to remove the tumor (which I had named Guado), I was a mess. I have a real fear of anesthesia. I had surgery about 15 years ago, to repair my sphincter. (God, hasn’t my ass suffered enough?) After giving birth to three kids, it needed some repair work. I had a terrifying experience with the anesthesia. While under the anesthesia, I was conscious of what was going on, but I was paralyzed as they were putting the breathing tube down my throat. That feeling of not being able to move or talk while still conscious, was like one of those nightmares where you're trying to scream, but no sound comes out. Ever since then, I’ve had an unnatural fear of anesthesia. In fact, I told my kids that if I’m ever in a coma, it’s fine with me if they go ahead and pull the plug the first day.

With my upcoming surgery, I was also having a colonoscopy. The preparation the day before the surgery was unpleasant. I had to drink a gallon of some nasty stuff and then sit on the toilet the entire day. Normally, it takes me a whole day to drink eight ounces of water. Drinking a gallon of grossness, out of a straw for two hours, was not fun. But, I did it, and that initial accomplishment gave me confidence that I would be able to handle the surgery.

And, the surgery went great. I felt so relieved afterward. I had very little pain and I was told that my colon was clear. Though I had an appointment to see the surgeon on Tuesday to get the cancer results, I was able to put it out of my mind and just enjoy my weekend. It wasn’t until Monday before my appointment that I faced the possibility that I might actually have cancer. As I was trying to go to sleep that night, waves of panic kept rising in my chest. I think my body was trying to prepare me for the results. By the time I got to the doctor’s office the next day, I knew in my gut what the results would be. Still, when the doctor said the word "cancer," the shock hit me pretty hard. I no longer had that cushion of doubt. No more blissful ignorance or glimmer of hope that the tumor was benign and I could forget the whole ordeal and return to my former, carefree life.

As Dr. Fraser delivered the bad news, I tried my best to listen to the details. The cancer was a form of squamous cell carcinoma. It had moved to my right lymph node, and possibly to the left. Due to the large size of the tumor, it was probably stage 3 B, whatever that meant. He said this type of cancer is very responsive to chemo and radiation, but that I had a tough battle ahead.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Chemo? No one in my family has had cancer, except for lung cancer, which I had always assumed was from smoking. Isn’t this type of cancer hereditary?”

I wonder how many times doctors hear such absurd logic from their patients. As if it makes any difference, once you've been diagnosed with cancer, whether or not your grandmother or your third cousin had it. I think I felt the need to make this point, not as an argument, but as an excuse for my ignorance to the whole cancer business. If he had said I was diabetic, or had high cholesterol, I would have been more open to the idea. “Sure,” I would have said, “I’ve been expecting this. My sister is diabetic. My dad had a heart attack. I eat a lot of crap. I’ve been expecting to have a massive heart attack any day now. But cancer, I don’t know a damn thing about cancer.”

Aside from being sympathetic to the suffering of cancer victims, I had never had much interest in it. I’m ashamed to admit that I sometimes got annoyed with the media’s obsession with cancer. Pink ribbons everywhere. Lance Armstrong living strong to win the Tour de France with one testicle. My ignorance and disinterest left me wide open and vulnerable. I think I believed that, for some reason, I was immune to cancer. People like me don’t get cancer. Only exceptional people get cancer. People with an incredible will to live. People who live their lives to the fullest. Not people who complain about bad hair days and having nothing cute to wear.

I felt guilty about my ignorance. Maybe, if I had paid attention to all the cancer news, I would have realized that hemorrhoids do not grow so large as to be worthy of the name Guado. Then, after the guilt, came the anger. I got angry at my arrogance? Who the hell did I think I was? Did I think I was above getting cancer?

This was the beginning of the crazy cancer mind. It goes from lamenting the past, to the confusion of the present. It asks, what do I do now? How do I tell my children? Who should I tell first? Am I dying? Will I be in pain? Will I be hideous to look at?

Then the crazy cancer mind tries to be logical. It says to make a plan. It says, take it one day at a time. Be positive. I tell it to shut up and then begin to sob uncontrollably. I cry for everyone I know and for everyone who has ever suffered. I cry with abandon and without shame, because this time I’m crying about something real. This time, I’m entitled to my tears.
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Take my friend, for example. One Friday night, she was doing her best emulation of a “playa,” feeling justified perhaps following a string of similar treatment by men. After making tentative plans to meet up with a certain man, I’ll call Thing 2, she received a surprise visit by another man who she found preferable to Thing 2, thereby labeling him Thing 1.

As my friend was enjoying an intimate get-together on the couch with Thing 1, her cell phone rang. Of course she wasn’t going to interrupt their activity to answer the phone. The phone was set to vibrate, so as it continued to ring, it vibrated itself off of the coffee table and onto the floor. The impact caused the phone to answer the call from Thing 2. At first Thing 2 was confused that there was no answer on the other end of the line, but as he continued listening, he realized that he was listening to the fruits of Thing 1’s labors. He realized that his plans for the evening would not result in such good fortune.

My own cell phone betrayal was less traumatic, but embarrassing nonetheless. I was invited to one of those Tupperware type parties for sex toys. It was my first one, so I was relieved when the hostess passed out the Jell-O shots. I helped myself to a few in a short time, so by the time the librarian-esque hostess began her spiel, I was well on my way to earning the title of “Most Obnoxious Guest Ever.” While I was heckling her with what I considered hilarious anal bead jokes and personal accounts of sex gone bad, my boyfriend had called my cell phone, or my cell phone called him, the details are sketchy, but the result was that my boyfriend listened to the entire interaction. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he put his phone on speaker so his dad could listen in as well. The next day, I was forced to break up with my boyfriend and change my identity.

Cell phones are supposed to help us feel connected, giving us a sense of security, but it comes with a price. This nifty device that sends steamy text messages to secret lovers, also provides recorded proof of their infidelity. Having access to someone’s online cell phone account means having real time knowledge of who they are talking to and when. It’s frightening how easy it is to piece together one’s every move just by searching their cell phone activity. Now, there are phones with GPS tracking systems, giving new meaning to the term “on a short leash.”

You can take it even further by exacting some crafty cell phone revenge. For example, one embittered divorcee secretly took her estranged husband’s sim card out of his phone, downloaded all of the information to her phone and put the sim card back. She was able to access all of his phone numbers, pictures and some old text messages. If you have access to someone’s online cell phone account, you can send text messages from their phone via the internet. Think of the possibilities. Or, you can change their account or download a lot of stuff. Of course, this is all very illegal.

We hear a lot of talk about technology interfering with our ability to connect in a personal way, but therein lies the irony. We are too connected. We have call-waiting, so we can interrupt one conversation to start another one. We can text, e-mail and talk on the phone, all at the same time. We are always within reach, whether we want to be or not. I’ve never been one to answer the phone just because it rings. I answer the phone when I choose to answer the phone. I guard my time and my solitude a little too much, but I refuse to let cell phones, e-mails, IMs, and text messages invade my life and my freedom. Conversely, I’m starting to think that ignorance is bliss. Having access to someone’s personal information is dangerous for everyone. My experience has been, if you look hard enough for evidence of dishonesty or foul play, eventually you’ll find it.
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The most difficult part of the entire cancer experience was the diagnosis. While the cancer diagnosis and discovering my boyfriend’s infidelity resulted in a similar set of emotions, I found that I approached the cancer with less resistance, which meant I was able to move through the emotional process more successfully. I realized that the first step toward healing is having a definitive diagnosis. Denial is still a normal reaction to adversity, but having a definitive diagnosis makes moving from denial to acceptance much easier. It is difficult to argue with a doctor’s test results. Betrayal, on the other hand, is rarely as definitive. If it was, it wouldn’t be betrayal. Like most cheaters, my boyfriend denied any wrongdoing, which only served to feed my denial of the truth. Imagine a doctor saying, “I know the test results say you have cancer, but I would never do that to you, so believe me when I say the results are wrong.” I would still be sitting in the doctor’s office in a state of confusion. Whether you are facing cancer or a breakup, accepting the diagnosis is the crucial first step. It is the only way to move from shock and paralysis to action.

After acknowledging that my relationship was definitely over, I decided to define the steps to healing as I had with cancer. This is what I came up with:

1) MAKE A REALISTIC PROGNOSIS. Just as the doctors gave me a 70% survival rate for my cancer, I was able to assess my ability to survive a breakup at a realistic 100%. I needed to acknowledge that this wasn’t a death sentence for my love life.

2) MAKE A TREATMENT PLAN. Like I said before, the worst part of the cancer experience was the diagnosis, because I was facing the unknown. Once I had a treatment plan in place, I was able to prepare and take an active role. I couldn’t ignore my broken heart, just like I couldn’t ignore my tumor.

3) BUILD A SUPPORT SYSTEM. When the word got out that I had cancer, I was amazed at the amount of support I received and was equally amazed at the healing power of that support. Unfortunately, breakups don’t usually elicit the same level of sympathy. But, you can find the support you need through a couple of good friends, some good books or music. One book I read, suggested finding a breakup buddy, which is exactly what I did. I have one friend who understands my situation and offers support without judgment.

4) THINK POSITIVE. At first I hated this suggestion. On the day of my cancer diagnosis, several well-meaning friends suggested that I be positive. I knew they were right, but I wasn’t ready to be positive just yet. It’s okay to mourn and have a pity party for a day or two, but eventually, a positive attitude must kick in in order to survive. I’ve found that when I’m not feeling particularly positive, it helps to “fake it til you make it.”

5) CONSIDER THIS A WAKE-UP CALL TO CHANGE. Cancer is really your body attacking itself. I thought this was an important metaphor for my life. I was blessed with a body that has served me well for many years, but instead of treating it well, I abused it with fast food, alcohol, tanning, etc. I realized that cancer was telling me to give my body more love and attention , and my breakup was telling me to do the same for my psyche. My relationships were just another form of self-abuse.

6) SURRENDER THE OUTCOME TO A HIGHER POWER. Whether you are religious or not, there are things we can control and things we can’t. Knowing the difference can save you a lot of frustration. I spent a ridiculous amount of time and energy playing detective in my relationship. Ultimately, none of my effort resulted in my desired outcome. I wasn’t able to control my boyfriend’s actions, just like I wasn’t able to control the cancer cells growing in my body. I can follow my treatment plans, increase my knowledge and make better decisions, but beyond that, the outcome for both situations is out of my control. There is actually a lot of strength in surrender.

7) LIVE IN THE NOW. I can’t go back in time and undo the damage I did to my body, just as I can’t undo the damage caused by my bad relationship decisions. I can’t predict the future. I can fight cancer and then get hit by a bus. That’s the beauty of this life. Unless you’re thumped on the head with the reality of your own mortality, you don’t waste time worrying about it. But, then again, facing your mortality, might mean facing the time you waste.

Healing from cancer or a broken heart, is a perpetual journey, but it can bring some unexpected rewards. I have surprised myself with my resilience. I am surprised that my fears have been replaced by gratitude. I am surprised by my own capacity for hope. Relationships, like cancer, are chronic. The end of a relationship makes you feel weak and vulnerable and scared. You’re faced with an uncertain future as well as a reinterpretation of the past. These things change your view of the world. As painful as both situations are, the pain brings strength, the scars bring gratitude, and the uncertainty brings hope.
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