Some stay in New York for a job. Others stay for a significant other.
I stayed in New York for a hospital.
But now we're breaking up. Or at the very least, decided to see other people. Taking a break. We will "stay friends", keep each other posted on comings and goings, and occasionally share bodily fluids.
...in the least sexual way.
As happens in many relationships, we've outgrown each other. Rather, my hospital has nothing compelling to offer me in this stage of my life (/cancer).
So, I'm on the prowl. My hospital has encouraged me to play the field and check out multiple options before settling down. (The relationship analogies will eventually stop.)
(...but not just yet).
I'm flying out tomorrow to meet someone new. As with all first dates, I will gain no useful information. We will exchange basics and backgrounds. Only on a slightly different tune, as I will be regaling them with tales of the failed relationships of my past and every health malady I can scrounge up from recent memory and record. (Note: this is not a dating advice column. Everyone knows such material should be saved for dates 3 and 5!)
Unfortunately, the decision to have a second date is as much theirs as it is mine. As I court this new hospital, he may decide to wait before following up. (hospital will now be referred to as "he" in keeping with the theme.) He may decide that he is "not ready for something serious right now". The timing may not be right. He may be unable to give me what I want. (drugs) He may be unable to satisfy my needs. (drugs) He may do and say all of the right things (read: give me the right drugs), as others have before him, and still come up short.
I share a concern of many women far older than I: the biological clock. Mine is also ticking, but not so much in the reproductive sense as in the productive sense. My ability to function independently is diminished every single day I go without effective treatment, as the tumors colonizing my vital organs grow unfettered. Each symptom of their success is a new warning sign, a new harbinger of doom.
Fever, fatigue, pain, and malfunction may very well be the Four Horsemen.
(Now that I've made you sufficiently depressed...)
Like so many sensing their own draining hourglass, I find myself in a rush to settle down. I find myself anxious to find the right hospital to grow old with. And like so many, I worry I may end up alone.
(Or with a cat or something. I'm not picky.)
I stayed in New York for a hospital.
But now we're breaking up. Or at the very least, decided to see other people. Taking a break. We will "stay friends", keep each other posted on comings and goings, and occasionally share bodily fluids.
...in the least sexual way.
As happens in many relationships, we've outgrown each other. Rather, my hospital has nothing compelling to offer me in this stage of my life (/cancer).
So, I'm on the prowl. My hospital has encouraged me to play the field and check out multiple options before settling down. (The relationship analogies will eventually stop.)
(...but not just yet).
I'm flying out tomorrow to meet someone new. As with all first dates, I will gain no useful information. We will exchange basics and backgrounds. Only on a slightly different tune, as I will be regaling them with tales of the failed relationships of my past and every health malady I can scrounge up from recent memory and record. (Note: this is not a dating advice column. Everyone knows such material should be saved for dates 3 and 5!)
Unfortunately, the decision to have a second date is as much theirs as it is mine. As I court this new hospital, he may decide to wait before following up. (hospital will now be referred to as "he" in keeping with the theme.) He may decide that he is "not ready for something serious right now". The timing may not be right. He may be unable to give me what I want. (drugs) He may be unable to satisfy my needs. (drugs) He may do and say all of the right things (read: give me the right drugs), as others have before him, and still come up short.
I share a concern of many women far older than I: the biological clock. Mine is also ticking, but not so much in the reproductive sense as in the productive sense. My ability to function independently is diminished every single day I go without effective treatment, as the tumors colonizing my vital organs grow unfettered. Each symptom of their success is a new warning sign, a new harbinger of doom.
Fever, fatigue, pain, and malfunction may very well be the Four Horsemen.
(Now that I've made you sufficiently depressed...)
Like so many sensing their own draining hourglass, I find myself in a rush to settle down. I find myself anxious to find the right hospital to grow old with. And like so many, I worry I may end up alone.
(Or with a cat or something. I'm not picky.)
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