Did I mention we read?

By the way... did I mention we are a family of readers? I mean like serious readers. Like we had to rent a uhaul when we moved not for the furniture, but for the books. Whenever we go to make a major purchase, we buy a book about it, research it on the internet, check consumer reports (it's amazing we ever buy anything with the amount of time we spend deciding). So, of course, immediately after the diagnosis we start the whole reading thing. Let me amend that... Michele starts the whole reading thing. I personally don't want to know anything more than what I already know. But she buys me some books anyhow, and I look through them.

First, let me say that I am sure that these books are great tools for the majority of women, so please don't take what is to follow the wrong way... BUT... these were probably the least helpful books I have ever read. Yes, the technical stuff was great, but the rest of it.....ehhhh.... not so much. The problem starts with the fact that most of them are written for heterosexual women. They are also written for women older than me. And they are written for a woman with a very different approach to the world than I have. Now bear with me as I explain these observations.

I'll start with the way I approach life. I am not a blamer. I don't blame my troubles on others, on myself or on God. I accept that sometimes shit just happens and we don't know why, but generally if you just go with the flow, the reasons become apparent. I am also not a person who throws up my hands and says "Why me?" because basically, when you say that, you are saying that it should have been someone  else. So, what would make me so special that I should be spared this? Yes... it makes me a little bit  mad (okay- maybe more like a lot) that I have this, but the crack addict who shops in my store continues happily through life without ticking time-bombs attached to her chest, but I wouldn't wish this on anyone.It's NOT fair, but then really, who ever was promised that life would be fair? So all those chapters reassuring me that what I felt was natural just pissed me off. Of course it's natural.

Next is the age thing. The books spend a great deal of time dealing with the loss of femininity that we will go through as we lose our hair and eventually our breasts. Ummm... since when did my hair or boobs make me a woman? Like I will go bald and boobless and suddenly I will stop being just as girly as I have always been? No... I don't think so. Younger women now realize that if you aren't happy with your boobs, you can change them. Bigger, smaller, more perky, more rounded, less saggy...whatever. And I see lots of beautiful women with shaven heads, so if it isn't the hair or the boobs that make up your femininity, what exactly is it? I mean, I know some butch women with HUGE bazongas and hair you could use to climb a wall with who are by no means feminine. I think it is a generational thing. For me, femininity is a state of mind.

Finally... the biggie... Sex.
The books spend a good deal of time talking about sex and intimacy while going through the process. I think at this point I kinda threw the book on the floor in disgust. Not disgust as in sex is disgusting, but the whole mess about being there for your partners needs and how to continue to have a sex life. HELLO?!?! Seriously? I may be the only woman in the world who thinks this way, but you know, right now, I really don't care about getting my freak on. And I definitely am not going to do it just to make my partner feel better. Let me break it down for you, so if you are squeamish, you night want to skip this next paragraph.

When you lose your hair, you lose ALL of it- pubes included. So now your privates are kinda prepubescent. That may be sexy to some people, but for me, its a little creepy. Also, chemo changes your body chemistry and you smell weird. I wish I could explain that part better, but the best way I can explain it is to say that your body gives off a sour smell. (of course, I could just have a real sensitive nose). So now I am hairless and smelly. Add to that the fact that my stomach still can't decide which direction my food should be headed, and as far as I am concerned, this is not the recipe for romance. I just find it hard to believe that any woman who has been married as long as I have can't wait the eight months or however long the treatment is before getting a little nookie. All I can think is maybe the women who can get past all that to actually have sex are either way more interested in sex than I am, or they are worried if they don't put out, they might end up like Newt Gingrich's wives or Elizabeth Edwards. Lucky for me, my wife loves me enough to respect the fact that I am just not that into it right now, but that I would love a snuggle or twelve. And when we do finally get to the point where I am back to myself.... well... the neighbors might complain.