He carried a handkerchief. The old fashioned cloth kind, like something your grandma keeps in her purse along with loose change and hard candy. It was our second date and he kept whipping it out mid-sentence to wipe his nose.
I wasn't sure what to make of it. Was this guy such a tree hugger that he considered regular Kleenex a sin? A fashion victim taking the gentleman dandy thing a bit too seriously? Or just a slob who doesn't realize how icky it is to carry around your old boogers in your pocket?
I decided to ask. "Hey Matt, do you have a cold or something?"
"Nah, I have a head tumor," he said with a wry smile.
But I could tell he wasn't joking.
At some point during puberty a tumor had started to form in his nasal cavity, he told me. Over the years it had gotten bigger and bigger, eventually growing to the size of a softball.
It didn't hurt, he said. In fact, he didn't even know about it until a few months ago when his mom took him to the doctor. He was having a hard time breathing through his nose, which was always running like a leaky faucet (hence, the handkerchief).
The good news was that it wasn't cancerous. The bad news was that the tumor was going to keep getting bigger and would eventually start putting pressure on his brain. He could go blind or even die unless it was removed.
Removing it would mean basically taking his whole face apart. Doctors would have to make a cut right down the center of his face from his forehead to his chin in order to get at the tumor.
While I wasn't sorry I asked, part of me wasn't sure how to deal with the situation. What's the proper etiquette for when a boy tells you he has a life threatening tumor on the second date? Should you offer to pick up the tab? Check in with his doctor before asking him on a third? I wasn't good at these things.
Luckily, I didn't have to be. He answered my questions (I had about a million) while making a bunch of morbid but very funny jokes to break the tension. He also admitted that he was pretty scared.
That second date turned into a third and pretty soon we were counting down the days until his operation, which was scheduled for the day of our three-month anniversary.
I tried not to let on, but I was really freaked that something would go wrong with Matt's surgery. I knew they had to take him apart to get at the tumor, but would the doctors be able to put my boyfriend back together again?
