Dating post-transplant: ‘I felt like you lost interest in me but really, I know it’s because of fatigue and mental health.’
Well, yes. Fatigue and my mental health were part of it. But really? There is so much more to this.
Tuesday – 11:40pm – what started as an email response became what I hope someone might find helpful.
‘Lost interest’ – but how can one be interested in something or someone when you don’t know or see them?
If we see relationships like hobbies, issues may become clearer. We take up a hobby because we enjoy it, but if we don’t practice our new skill, read around the subject, join clubs, or participate regularly, our ‘interest’ may wain, as well as our ability. There lies the crux of the challenge facing a fatigued person who is trying to make inroads into the dating world.
Not only are we battling the confusion of the tech of dating apps and multiple conversations, but if we don’t present ourselves as ‘ideal candidates’ in those first few messages, we will be unmatched or blocked. On top of that, if we do get as far as starting to see someone regularly, we can be thwarted by our health and the resulting lifestyles we lead when trying to see and get to know someone.
Having moved home to be cared for by my parents during my recovery, I’m blessed in how well I get on with them. But at the same time, as much as I would like a potential beau to get on with them, it’s a well-known fact that we have three faces: the person/face we are alone, the one we are with family, and finally, the public profile we put on when we leave the house.
When dating, you want as much as possible, to be your most genuine self. But how can you do that if you are eating communal meals and then the individual is in your bed, with a wallpaper thin wall between you and your parents?
I’ve not dated properly since just post-transplant. In those heady days of enthusiasm and la bonne vie I met someone who I thought was rather ‘perfect’ and threw myself into something that turned out to be very far from that.
It started off fine, as most of these things do—with those morning texts just after you wake—which are like morning kisses, catching you in that blur between sleep and wake, reminding you of real ones and more—spontaneous messages that catch you off guard and remind you that, yes, this individual is thinking about you as much as you are about them. It’s the messages that did it, because for me, not working, in between things, not in the real world, not seeing a lot of people, these little snatches of human contact were like lifelines into a world of isolation. They also gave hope that one day, I might be curled up on the sofa with someone other than my dog.
I loved those messages, so I panicked as the initial honeymoon petered out into a more weakened tea of sporadic contact. Panic is what you don’t do when dating—as with sailing—it does not end well.
I methodically copied and pasted the WhatsApp messages I had with this individual into my diary at the time, so confused was I at how things seemed to be going. At that point, it was an attempt at making sense of what was breaking around me. Afterwards, I would see it as evidence that my brain post-transplant was not working clearly or effectively. Whatever anyone in the medical professional might say—whether it’s the toxins that have been reaching your brain for as many years as they have because of the failing liver, or the concoction of drugs that you are suddenly on that befuddles you—you are not initially a healthy, right-minded person post-transplant.
I, therefore, do not advise dating or trying to date after a recent big (in my case – lifesaving) operation. Think of it like driving; you wouldn’t drive, so don’t try to date.
However, five years on, I dipped my toe in the water again and met someone. It was unexpected, and delightful. He was charismatic, attractive, intelligent, and creative. I was flattered,
But also, weary, or should I say scared?
I’ve spent a lifetime thinking I was broken, and when I had finally reached the point of no, not broken, just sick, I realised that my disease is a lifetime partner and won’t be leaving me—ever. Learning to live with autoimmune hepatitis and the medications I take to stay alive has been an education in itself. No two days are the same, and my mind, which I’m particularly protective of, is still having days when the programs aren’t running as they should., (turning up at the wrong place for a funeral, misunderstanding directions, forgetting things moments after they happen, losing chunks of memories of people, signing the wrong bits on forms, and losing items, possessions, money, my dignity and my confidence being just some of these).
I have no choice about my health other than to make the best of it and learn to adapt my life and experiences to make every day the best day I can.
However, I’m under no illusion about how unappealing this may make me.
Even if you can accept the crippling fatigue, really shit days and incidents as listed above – travel insurance for me is astronomical. Ironically it was less when I was dying. Now with my new liver, the insurers are particularly panicky for some reason, making romantic last-minute holidays problematic to say the least.
Life expectancy is a bit hit and miss, and my ability to earn, although I remain cautiously optimistic, may take some time to develop.
So, when this new individual stopped sending morning messages, and there were fewer messages, full stop. I took a deep breath and stepped back.
I’ve been single long enough to know I can survive alone with three labradors (two of which are my parents), one cat and my parents being close by. So as long as I can make my life like ‘cake’, anyone coming into it needs to be icing.
I don’t want to scare suitors off. I don’t tell them immediately about my health situation these days, as I try to live my life as best I can, but when you know you might be flaky, have off days when you can’t get out of bed, or can’t message—full disclosure is important quite soon.
Final thoughts on the fucked-up world of trying to date while in recovery; for now, at least, newbie, as I still am in these unchartered waters? In conclusion—softly, softly, baby steps.
I advise being honest and explain your health and your ‘ living situation’ and if you do notice a pattern of behaviour—for example, mine can come across as ‘needy’, when actually I just have my phone on a lot and enjoy messaging—explain that ahead of time, and what it means to you.
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