The Objects of My Affection

My birthdays have long been associated with hookups and breakups. In 2003, J and I became official after watching his friend's band play in a club. In 2005 I hooked up with B, who every girl was either explicitly or secretly in love with. In grad school in 2007, my new best friend began dating her housemate, unaware of my secret crush on him. In 2008 that same best friend "broke up with me" at my party, moving on to a new girl in school who was wittier, hugely sarcastic, and way more seemingly self-assured. This year I get to turn 34 celebrating with some of my closest friends who have known me for several years -- some for decades. Unless I become a lesbian overnight or one of my male friends turns straight, there will be no hookups or breakups, at least none involving me.

Three days ago my symptoms worsened from what they usually are, and I had to use a walker around the house for the entire day. I briefly succumbed to despondency, thinking that I'd have to cancel my upcoming birthday plans of dinner out followed by up-scale bowling. Then the Me that I know returned and I promised myself that if I needed the walker for my party, I'd take it right into that restaurant and right down that bowling alley, bowling the ball, walker and all. It did however prompt me to join yet another dating site -- this time one for people with disabilities. While most of my winks have been from guys in foreign countries looking for visas, I figured the hearing impaired guy in my state or the one with Asperger's just might get where I'm coming from and overlook my disorder as he would wish his to be overlooked as well. Usually I can hide my condition until I'm ready to share it -- stating that my lack of a car is due to economics and that I spend my days working on my Master's degree. Both of these statements are true, just not full disclosures.

However, if I really do become fully dependent on a walker -- and it looks like I probably will -- my disorder will be the first thing people see about me. In a way this is bad. No one will get to know the real me before learning of my complications. But in another way it's good. There will be no secrets, no wondering if someone would lose interest in me if they knew about my difficulties. And after all, who says walker-clad me is not the real me?

Within my group of friends, some are in committed relationships, others are interested in each other, and my roommate just had a second date with a guy who seems perfect for her. I remember one of my favorite movies, "The Object of My Affection," where gay Sidney asks Nina who is in love with gay George: "What happens when all your friends find other men? Who will be at your table then?" Sidney is in love with George's boyfriend Paul, and the one man in love with Nina she doesn't want to be with. Well, if the movie is any indication of my future life, all my gay and straight friends will still be around my table, with their gay and straight partners, and I just may end up dating a hot police officer who kisses my hand while my daughter sings the lead in the school play. Even if only the beginning of that scenario comes true, I'll be happy. When your health fails, friends and family become paramount, and a romantic partner moves down to the category of nice but not necessary. I may feel despondent about that tomorrow -- but not today.