Community of Sexsoundlovers

A year ago, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. It seemed out of nowhere, she had a lump on her breast that she was sure was a cyst (these are common, as I have learned). Bringing it to the attention of her doctor lead to a concerned mammogram. Which lead to an even more concerned biopsy after her radiology tech bullied the scheduler into walking her right in for said biopsy (and really, a thousand blessings on that woman's house for doing that). Which led to an appointment with an oncologist in a week. I got laid off the same day, and felt like I was a truck break down away from being in a country song. Well, an old country song. We had a week together of terror, anger, and disbelief. Being us, we fucked like maniacs every minute we weren't crying.

It seemed so unfair; she was in her late 30s, had dropped 80 lbs, was setting a goal for being in her best health of her life going into her 40s, as was crushing that goal. We cook most of our meals at home, eat real food, and are vegetarians. We are so deeply in love, and really both get the best from our marriage. It just was not fair. Honestly, if I had still been the devote Christian I was when we met, this would have broken me. Being a pagan gave me a little more leeway to beg aid of The Divine without feeling I had sinned in some way, but I'll be honest that it is a little easier to see the hand of the dark goddess in a ladybug eating a trail through aphids than it is worrying if this is how your wife would leave this planet. Would leave you. Would leave your child.

When we talked to the oncologist, we were told the cancer was stage 3. In a week she would have a PET scan that would show if it had spread anywhere else. If it did, it would no longer be fought to win, it would be fought to extend her life. She might even live as much as 20 more years! The test would come a week before chemo started. After 20 rounds of chemo, there would be a break with some time to heal before a surgery of an unknown level of disfigurement. Maybe loss of both breast if genetic results were bad, maybe a permanent loss of sensation in her breasts. The first nurse practitioner we talked to outlined the treatments ahead kind of freaked out that we were asking sex questions. "Some couples will think of this as a nice break," and warnings of the toxicity of her bodily fluids. Warned to "be careful" about even kissing. Thankfully, most of this was shooting from the hip by a young medical professional who was far from sex-positive. But would anyone be shocked to learn that the levels of chemo drugs had be measured in sperm, but not in vaginal fluids? Ah, thanks again patriarchy, you make it great for all of us.
Through it all, we had each other, and really were able to put that "in sickness and in health" saying into action. All the results we got back were the best they could be, the fear ebbed, but there was still plenty of suffering. Emily Nagoski's book "Come Together" came out while chemo treatments were going on, and there were a few chapters on sex in relationships with disability, with sickness and chronic diseases. It really kind of struck me that a true life-long commitment to someone is going to mean that will happen at some point. After the third infusion, her hair started to fall out, so it went from short, to buzzed to truly bald all over. She had a good head for being bald! It was honestly a pretty cool look on her, and I still found her beautiful and sexy. Also, she is not a big fan of shaving anywhere, so this was the first time she really had a bald pussy, and it was fun as hell to eat her out. Well, other than the chemical burn that I got on my tongue and lips, but she never noticed and I will never ever tell her about that. She just needed a little more pleasure in her life!

Our sex grew emotional, deeply engaged and intertwining. We were pulling through a terrible experience together, and getting a little stronger for it. But it was not the same, she did not have the energy and strength that she did just months ago. All the aspects of treatment ended up being as great as possible could be, and she came through with a complete pathologic return (meaning all cancer was dead after surgery). She kept both of her lovely breasts (insert a Princess Bride line here) and minimal scarring. Even after all that, it has been a road of recovery. A imunotherapy drug that helped kill the cancer triggered a rheumatoid arthritis response that had her barely able to walk for months, and she fought through it with weight training and yoga (and medicine!) Now she is generally mad when it sets back her running goals, lifting goals. Her cycle came back, even though we were told that it definitively wouldn't. She is mad about it, but honestly, I feel like I had finally gotten used to keeping track of how it changed her moods and how she liked to be touched, so I'm glad that I still get to use that knowledge.