This is how we do it: “My cancer is terminal, but sex is a form of healing” | Life and style
Joe, 53
When Jess squeezes my butt in passing, it’s as if she’s affirming my humanity
I’ve always been very sexual, and that’s as true now as it’s ever been—maybe even more so. When you’re grappling with late-stage cancer, your tactile experiences are generally painful — there’s a lot of poking, slicing, probing and scanning, not to mention toxins being pumped into your body — and after a while, it becomes tempting to mentally disconnect. There have been times in the past few years when I’ve felt more like the subject of a medical experiment than the person I used to be, but when Jess caresses my arm or gives my butt a fleeting squeeze, it’s as if she’s affirming my humanity, reminding me that touch can be enjoyed, not just endured.
Before my diagnosis, Jess and I had sex often more than once a day, and it was easy for her to feel resentful about how much that part of our lives had changed, but she never made me feel like I let her down when my body refused to cooperate. We’ve had to navigate feeding and drainage tubes with me, adjusting to being skeletal, then bloated, then skeletal again – but the fact that she was so upfront about how attractive she found me throughout all of this made it so easy to work with.
When I was feeling good, we were enjoying sex more than ever before — trying ways we’d never done in nearly 13 years together, like using different toys — and when intercourse was impossible, Jess still found ways to make me feel good. One day, I was so fragile post-op that I couldn’t do much, but she jokingly offered a sensual massage – including a topless massage – which made me laugh but also really turned me on.
There is no cure for the cancer I’m fighting, but having sex with Jess is a form of healing. We sleep in separate rooms now because I’ve been having cramps and hiccups at night, but just this morning she got under her blankets and massaged my thighs. Despite all the symptoms, side effects and recent surgeries, these cravings passed me by. Our time together may be limited — a few years, or even months — but Jess and I will always find ways to celebrate each other physically, no matter what condition my body may be in. Cancer takes a lot from you, but it can never rob me of the thrill I feel when she puts her hands on my skin.
Jess, 49
I always see him as my lover and not sick
Our sex life — like the rest of our lives — has been a rollercoaster since Joe was diagnosed, but neither of us can imagine doing without it completely. You’re very medically intimate with your partner when you’re supporting him through cancer treatment, but when I’m in bed with Joe, I always see him as my lover, not my patient.
Before Joe and I met in my late 30s, I never thought of myself as a tangible person. I used to carry a lot of fear around sex, having witnessed marital rape between my parents. Even though I had been with my first husband since I was 15, I was never attracted to him. Secretly, I thought I might be asexual. Then Joe and I took the same writing course, and I felt this magnetic pull toward him. Even the smell of patchouli in the room excites me. We waited to sleep together until we separated from our partners, but once we did, Joe precipitated what I can only describe as my sexual revolution. I doubt I’ll be able to go 24 hours without touching him somehow now.
Sometimes it’s been more difficult to be intimate since his diagnosis, but I love him too much to find out. We’ve always found a way to laugh through the complexities. I remember, during a particularly intense workshop early on in the hospital, we were grappling with the idea of having to use a condom again to prevent me from being exposed to Joe’s chemo drugs – like, I’m almost 50, and I’ve had a vasectomy! The other silver lining is that this whole experience forced me to let go of my body insecurities. If Joe was willing to be intimate with me when he was this weak, would I really worry about my stomach?
Being a caregiver and supporting ourselves financially can be exhausting, and there are days when I feel like sleep is more important than sex, or when my mind wanders to what our lives will be like in six months. But when that happens I remind myself of what we have now: today, each other and touching. It is an honor to be able to help him find pleasure in his body, the way he taught me to find pleasure, as long as I have the ability to do so.