Most often, they haven’t, so then I’ll usually try to find an appropriate moment (i.e., once they’ve started drinking) and then basically just blurt it out.
I don’t think there’s any right or wrong way to do it, but if you can tie it in somehow with something they’ve told you (like a friend who’s been through a health scare or a recent health situation of their own), that can make it easier.
When I close my eyes and concentrate on his kisses, it feels right. I open my mouth against his open mouth and just breathe. I pause and tell him, “I want to take my shirt off and show you my breasts.” In an act of solidarity, he says, “Me, too” and pulls his Henley off over his head. I am grateful that you seem to trust me enough to take a few first steps in that direction.”We make plans to visit a bookstore together in a couple of days, but I back out and tell him I’m feeling like I should slow things down.
We both stand there bare-topped in our jeans and I explain the territory of my chest to him like it’s a map and I’m the tour guide. I ask if we can reschedule our date to the following week.
“The girls” may be gone, but her wit and insight remain ever vibrant, compelling and frank. I’ve done quite a bit of dating this past year, despite the surgery, the chemo, the radiation and the challenges of post-treatment “Limboland.” Some of the guys already knew about the breast cancer, which made the “big reveal” a moot point.
Others — like the men I’ve met on online dating sites — didn’t have a clue, namely because I work hard at what I call “passing,” i.e., looking as normal as possible. It means no pajamas, no pallor, no cancer beanie — instead they (and everyone else) get skinny jeans and black boots, and maybe a vintage leopard coat.
I even had one guy try to run his fingers through my hair at the end of the date to tell me how pretty it was.“Next time I see you, I’ll tell you a secret about my hair,” I told him as I jumped out of the car, sensing a bit of confusion on his part. As for specifics about the “how to tell him” question?
A lot of times, I’ll start by asking the guy if he’s Googled me, since I’ve written about my breast cancer in some pretty high profile places (sometimes I wonder if I’m trying to tell every single guy in the country at once so I won’t have to go through the reveal date by date).
He says, “Take all the time you want.”When I see him the next Wednesday, I sit on the wrap-around bench inside his boat and reach for him. He takes the whole of my left pinky finger into his mouth. We lie tangled up together that night all night like animals, him dozing off between bouts of love-making, never loosening his arms from around me. and I tell him, “I’ve never been skinny dipping in a lake.He stops by my apartment the next day to return the book. It’s almost spring and the weather is beginning to turn. “Will you be available the days I have open when I get back? ”I assume he’s falling in love with one of the other women he started dating, but I’m not sure. Undergoing a double mastectomy in 2011, Diane is now also a voice for single women dealing with breast cancer.At her blog, Diane reveals, with painful honesty, the challenges of coping with her diagnosis, her treatment and her recovery. I got a great question from one of my readers named Vanessa the other day about a subject that’s near and dear to my (dark, dysfunctional) heart: dating after breast cancer.“When you start dating someone,” she asked, “how do you tell the person? Any advice is greatly appreciated.”As it turns out, I was just interviewed by Judy Mc Guire (aka the Date Girl columnist for the , and have also written a funny dating manual “How to Date in a Post-Dating World,” is why one of my BC buddies on Twitter started referring to me as the “Carrie Bradshaw of breast cancer.”Jeez, now that I think of it, I even have my own Mr. But back to Vanessa’s question about the hows and the whens of telling a date about your breast cancer.