Okay lovely ladies, have the words “But what if he doesn’t like me?” ever crossed your mind?
I’m going out on a limb and say that most of have had this thought: “What if he doesn’t like….”
- My quirky style
- My career aspirations
- My curly hair
- My clothing
- My sense of humour
- My intellect or my love of math
- My food preferences
- [Any of the million other possibilities out there]
I have certainly thought this way (and am not proud of it) This is a story of a date I went on about 8 months after my stroke (fall 2013) and how my thoughts have now changed.
But first, here’s a bit of background (and my thoughts during that time period):
I hate being thought of as a “stroke survivor.” I feel like such a weakling.
Dad has pleaded with me to keep my medic alert bracelet on my wrist at all times but I refuse. I hate it! The stupid thing is a constant reminder of the past year. But to appease him, I keep in in my purse. The darn thing invites SO many questions. What would a guy think of me!? I shouldn’t have to share my stroke with anyone. It’s my secret, like it or not!
Honestly, how on earth would I even explain having a stroke at 29 to a guy? That’s some heavy stuff. When you’re trying to keep things casual and fun when you first start dating, that is the LAST thing I would want to have to explain.
I can just picture it:
That was a delicious entrée, can’t wait for dessert. Oh yea, this medic alert bracelet you’ve been continuously asking me about through dinner. It’s because I had a stroke, BOTH types of strokes, oh……AND brain surgery……TWICE…..and I was paralyzed and couldn’t talk, …I still can’t fu*** do my own hair in a ponytail or pick up a damn knife to cut my steak…..no no it wasn’t a minor stroke, it was MAJOR and I lived in the hospital………AND I’m on blood thinners (if you haven’t already noticed the many bruises on my arms and legs……so you can stop wondering if I have an abusive ex-boyfriend. Oh……and the doctors say my stroke may have been caused because of the birth control pills I’ve been on for about 15 years. AND no, I was not a promiscuous 10 year old…….I had (and at times still have acne)………anything other questions you care to ask?!
I picture a guy racking his brain on how he can exit as he wonders, what the hell is a stroke?! Don’t you have to be like 80 to have a stroke?
That’s some heavy shit girl! What if you end up in the hospital again? I’m not ready to be a caregiver – this is just FUN, casual dating. I’m getting back online to find other “easier” girls – this is way too much. You have way too much baggage!
Or, he’s thinking my story is too warped that he mumbles, girl, I’m out, drops cash as fast as he can and runs out.
Sufficed to say, I do NOT tell anyone about the stroke and that period of my life. It’s so much easier that way.
The Date (Fall 2013):
I’ve gone online again and started talking to a cute guy named Mike. We had a fun phone conversation so we’re going on our first date. It’s a beautiful evening and I have a cute outfit picked out. I haven’t been on a date in what feels like eternity so I’m quite excited to get dressed up and have a fun dinner out.
He chooses Mezzetta Restaurant which is a Middle-Eastern tapas style place. I think tapas is such a fun way to get to know someone because you learn about what types of food they both like and dislike and it is a great segway to learn more about their travels and culture.
I have butterflies when I see how good looking he is! Yah! This will be a fun evening. We go through the whole menu, laughing and talking and choosing which dishes we will order. We order lamb Shish, veal shish, shrimp (all of which are on skewers) , along with beef sambousak (spiced minced beef wrapped in puff pastry), baba gannoush, and falafel.
I’m so hungry and can’t wait to dive in! The food starts arriving and I realize one thing, I cannot actually get the meat and shrimp off the skewer because I don’t have the dexterity in my right hand. In order to get the meat in my plate, one hand has to hold the tip of the skewer and the other hand would have to use a knife or fork to get the meat onto my plate.
SHIT SHIT SHIT! I’m trying to keep my right hand underneath the table so he doesn’t notice that I cannot use it (well, not gracefully at least!). While he talks, I just nod occasionally as my mind is going crazy – how on earth do I actually eat. There is sliced pita so I get one with my left hand and slowly, slowly eat that.
I’m dying for the delicious meat but can’t eat it. I must keep a proper lady-like decorum. But damn I’m hungry! Maybe I can try to distract him. But what would cause a distraction? URG! Soooooooooooo hungry. As the beef sambousak arrives, I realize that I can’t just use a fork, I need to cut it with a knife.
I’ll look like a caveman if I stick the entire puff pastry in my mouth. I also can’t use a knife because the handle is too thin. Mom has special knives for me at home that have a thick handle so I can curve my fingers around the knife and the handle is thick enough so my thumb has enough space, otherwise it falls off. (darn complexities when you don’t have dexterity)
I look to the knife beside my plate. DAMN! It’s a butter knife. So no chance of me cutting the pastry. At this point, he keeps saying, “Have the skewer before it get’s cold, it’s delicious.”
I don’t doubt that buddy but I can’t actually access the food at this point without looking like a nut (caveman is more like it). And there is NO way I’m going to explain WHY I can’t use my right hand. It’s pita and slowly sipping my drink for now.
“Dina, I’m just running to washroom, I’ll be back in just a minute!”
HORRAY!!!! The second I see him walking, I grab the fork and skewer and take all the meat and shrimp off the skewer in a caveman-esque manner. I plunge the knife barbarically into the puff pastry and cut it up. I shovel the food into my mouth. Everything is now on my plate and cut up so my right hand can go back underneath the table and I can look dainty, eating the food slowly and calmly like a lady.
Reflection:
What you will notice is that I was constantly looking to what HE would think is attractive or “lady-like.” I was looking for external validation instead of being confident with exactly who I am. I was scared that the real me wasn’t worthy of love (I was too odd, different and “messed up”)
I should have been SO darn proud of the fact that I recovered from a stroke, the fact that I could actually walk and talk and should have approached the date beaming with pride and confidence. (which was clearly not the case)
You don’t need to conform or try to be someone else. Be YOU! I have noticed that when you truly love yourself, the confidence and happiness you feel on the inside radiates outward . . . and that is an irresistible quality.