The woman I love has breast cancer

(Since I've been known to babble uncontrollably in the past, I made sure WorkingMom was okay with this before I posted.)

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I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be there. I’m supposed to give her space. I’m supposed to act like nothing is different.

Those are some of the answers I’ve found as I Googled for advice over the past couple of weeks. A woman that I love more than anyone I’ve ever loved before has been diagnosed with breast cancer. How do I, as her boyfriend, respond to it?

It’s not like this is the first time someone in my life has been diagnosed with cancer. My grandmother died from leukemia. But I was in fifth grade and really didn’t understand. It was at a time when children didn’t go to the hospital. She was sequestered away from us for the most part, until one night I was told that she had died.

I’ve participated in Relay for Life. The station I worked at Evansville was a media partner and I was a team captain. I didn’t do a very good job because it was a position that was forced upon me. But it gave me a chance to meet a lot of wonderful people who were being treated for various types of cancers or had beaten it. It also exposed me to people who lost loved ones to cancer.

But, now I’ve got a stake in this. The woman that I’ve been in love with for more than three years has been told she has breast cancer. It couldn’t come at a worse time.

I feel guilty that I’ve just taken this new job that keeps me two hours away from her. I know that two hours is like ten minutes compared to the thousands of miles that have been between us in the past. I know that she has an incredible support network where she is. I know that she is a strong woman and has publicly stated that she doesn’t need someone to hold her hand all the way through this. But, I’m her boyfriend and there are times when I feel like I’m failing her by not being at least in the same area code.

I shouldn’t be in a hotel room waiting by the telephone. I should be at her apartment, getting dinner ready. I should be playing Wii with her son or helping him with homework. I should be sitting across the table from her listening to how her day was. I should be there when she DOES need a hand to hold or a shoulder to cry on. Doing it by phone seems like I’m dropping the ball.

But she tells me it’s good this way. We hit a bit of a rough patch in our relationship after I came back to Indiana. Part of it was because I didn’t have a job and she became an easy target for my frustration. There were other factors in her life that I didn’t see from thousands of miles away and had trouble figuring out when I was closer.

It took that time away for me to find myself again. I found a job that I really enjoy. Ever since I heard “You’re hired,” a huge weight has been lifted shoulders. I am making much less money than I did three months ago. But I love what I do. I may never be able to take her on exotic vacations like I once promised. We may live from paycheck to paycheck. But as long there’s a chance I’ll get to come home to her for the rest of my life, I’ll be the richest man in the world.

One of my favorite comics is Funky Winkerbean. I started reading it regularly right after college and I’ve always identified with Les Moore. The nerdy kid in high school. The hopeless romantic. The guy who chased Lisa all the way to Paris to ask her to marry him. They started a family, moved into a house, realized their professional dreams. And then Lisa found a lump. And three years later, she died. She died after they told her the cancer was gone. She died after she delivered a child. She died when everything was going right and then the cancer came back. And that’s what scares me the most. I don’t want to be Les Moore in that respect.

There is no Facebook group called “My girlfriend has breast cancer.” I’ve Googled and Yahooed and Wikipediaed looking for something that will guide me through this. I know enough to not act any differently around her than the person she knew when we first met. I know not to shower her with pink ribbons unless I want to be strangled with one. I’ve read her rules. I’m good with them.

But I’m not as strong as she is. I know that a lot of partners of women with breast cancer feel somewhat helpless. Add some distance and the feeling gets that much worse.

But I love her, and I know that she’s going to help me through this as much as I try to help her. And I’ll keep thinking about our future when the present gets too overwhelming.