By: Megan Nicklay, Sarcoma
It’s May in Santiago, Chile and the crisp autumn air ushers in an atmosphere of romance and serendipity, a welcome contrast to the frantic uncertainty that came with my cancer diagnosis just 2 months prior. Under the twinkle lights on the back patio, I’m hitting it off with the son of the owner of the apartment I’m staying at. We share a bottle of Carménère and playfully discuss the 12 Laws of the Universe, seamlessly switching between Spanish and English. He moves to sit next to me, his uniquely blue-green eyes meet mine as he asks, ‘Can I kiss you?’. An unexpected pang of nervousness shot through me, and I froze. Hours of chatting and flirting under the moonlight was obviously leading to this, but suddenly I was reminded of the tumor sticking out of my right side and the wig of synthetic hair atop my head. He placed his hand at the nape of my neck and I flinched, gently guiding it downward to prevent him from noticing the base of my wig thus revealing my big secrets: I’m completely bald because I have cancer.
When the rapidly growing tumor was ultimately diagnosed as a sarcoma, I quickly underwent a round of chemotherapy and began preparations for radiation. Despite losing all my hair and experiencing some fatigue throughout treatment, I remained hopeful that I’d be cleared to travel to Chile for an internship I had previously accepted. I was determined to hold on to this opportunity to prove to myself that while cancer will be a part of my story, and definitely a significant part in the coming months, it’s not the whole story.
I kept my secrets to myself and we dated for the two weeks of my trip. We held hands on the Metro, shopped for groceries at the supermercado, and cooked meals at home together. On the weekend, we went out with his friends to see their band perform and the next day his grandma cooked lunch for us. ‘I love you,’ he’d tell me in English, quickly clarifying te quiero, not te amo, since in Spanish there are different ways to express general affection versus deep romantic love. It warmed my heart and left me utterly fascinated by all the unexpected moments of my life lately: the good and the bad.
With the momentum from my love affair in South America, I returned home and went on more dates, connecting with people with a newfound freedom. I tallied up more love interests as a bald girl during the month between radiation and surgery than the last year before my diagnosis combined. When I first got the news, I thought my love life would be on an indefinite pause. Dating is often inextricably linked to future plans and long-term goals, and cancer completely disrupts those ideas. I didn’t want cancer, I didn’t plan for cancer, but here I am living with it. Instead of fearing the unknowns of the future, I found full permission to focus on the present and simply enjoy the full spectrum of human emotion.
In this way, my diagnosis has pushed me to accept a lot of life lessons I already knew were true. One can’t wait around for everything to be ‘perfect’ or for everything to be ‘done.’ Because it’s never perfect, it’s never done. We’re always evolving and changing and, for me, being sick is part of that cycle. I decided I couldn’t wait to date until the treatment was over, because much of this never fully goes away. There are known elements of consistent doctors appointments and regular scans for months and years to come. There’s also the unknown threats of recurrence, complications, or long-term side effects from the heavy drugs. I accepted that I wouldn’t wait until my hair grows back either, because that too is a process that will go on for months and years. All I have is now. Applying these lessons to my love life has brought more joy, curiosity, and gratitude to each date, and, after spending months in and out of the hospital, I appreciate each moment I get to spend living as my whole self, not just a cancer patient.