My Friends

Sometime around the third week of June the word of my diagnosis got out. And then the emails and the phone calls started coming. The email I received from my friend K was very sweet. She showed she was concerned but was not intrusive.

Then there was the phone call from R. She called during work hours and why I picked up, I will never know. She started out the conversation, “So is it true?” Yes, what did she think, it was, a joke? Then she said something to me I will never forget. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about, Amy. It’s only a boob.”

I couldn’t believe the utter and complete insensitivity of that statement. And coming from another woman! I lit into her.

“It is so much more than that! It is part of my identity; it is part of who I am. It is a source of sexual gratification for me. It is not just a useless body part, an appendage for decoration. I have had my breasts since I was ten years old. This is a big deal for me, it is huge!”

“Well, my mother had both of hers cut off and she didn’t seem to care.” “Really? How do you know? Did you ever ask her? Maybe she just never said.”

R told me she never really cared much about her own breasts. Losing one or two wouldn’t mean that much to her. I suppose some women do feel that way. But this was about ME! My breasts mean a great deal to me. Losing one is a huge deal! It is a life altering experience. I am devastated.

“Well, it’s nice to know you’re angry.” I just could not get over such callused indifference and insensitivity from one woman to another. I was furious.

Then there was F. I have already mentioned F as my angel. She was the first person I called and she was always ready to share with me her experience, and give me good advice. And she was always ready to listen to me wail. She was concerned when she called and she came to my rescue when I needed help getting out of my apartment.  She was sensitive to my feelings and did not share my diagnosis with anyone. Not that it was a secret, but she respected my right to privacy. She is a true friend.

But I think the unkindest cut of all came from someone who I have corresponded with for nearly a year now. I have shared with him my deepest most intimate thoughts and feelings, and he has shared with me. Our relationship has grown and broadened over time. I tried not to admit it, but I think I was falling in love with him, at least with the idea of him. To me he was hope for the future. In my mind he was everything I dreamed of smart, funny, handsome, well read, educated, and successful. He might have been a little stodgy and not as adventuresome as me; but most importantly he represented the possibility of a true partnership. Maybe it was all a fantasy, but it kept me going. He gave me something to look forward to everyday. Maybe we could meet again in Florida and make each other happy. At least that was my dream.

When I told him about my diagnosis, he wrote me an email. An email. He said how sorry he was. What kind of heartless, empty shell of a man writes a woman an email when hearing this kind of news? How impersonal! Why not pick up the phone, let her hear the sympathy in your voice? Tell her personally how you feel about her and her body. It would mean so much more. Send flowers, or a handwritten card. Or just call her. Emails are so cold.

I couldn’t get over it. I ended our correspondence and our relationship. It was never going to develop beyond that anyway. I miss him terribly, but it is for the best. If you really care for someone you have to be willing to take the risk and show it. Otherwise, it is all lip service.