In spring 2025, I was finally coming back into the dating game after a long-term relationship ended. I was swiping on the apps, going to meet-up groups, and doing all of the things to fully embrace being a single 26-year-old looking for love and connection in a new city. 

Then came the lump.

My schedule went from three dates a week to three appointments a week. My phone’s contact list filled with doctor names and numbers, not new lovers. Taking my top off lost its sex appeal and became clinical, the boobie mugshots at the plastic surgeon replacing any staged thirst traps prepared for suitors.  

When I was diagnosed, I retreated into myself, lost contact with the people I was casually dating, and let the apps fall to the wayside. The effervescent and vivacious young woman in the mirror disappeared and was replaced with the bald, pale shell of who I once was. I constantly thought, “Who wants to be with a sick girl?”  

But the pre-cancer me deserved more. 

Once I settled into my new normal and got into the groove with chemo, I decided that time is precious (cliché, I know), and I wasn’t going to let cancer take away a foundational part of my life as a 20-something adult.

In full disclosure: I am still single, so clearly, I am no love expert. However, I tried out a lot of different methodologies to dating during chemo, surgeries, and radiation that I hope can empower others not to sacrifice their love life during their cancer journey.

Building a Profile

Online dating is the way to go these days, and while it is very convenient to swipe while sitting in a chemo chair for hours, it can be intimidating to put yourself out there. 

As a chemist, I automatically started viewing the apps as an experiment and started mapping out the variables of my profile that could be changed.  Data collection and analysis were easy, since the apps store all of your likes with the aspects of your profile that caught their eye. 

I had two versions of my profile that I used during treatment. The first was full of pictures of me pre-diagnosis or with my most natural wig on. I also left out any mention of cancer in the prompts and was as inconspicuous as possible. 

The other version went full tilt into honesty. No two pictures featured the same wig, and I even included a picture of me bald! My “Something you should know about me” prompt was a declaration of my diagnosis, and I had toyed around with some other prompts, too, in a more joking manner.

The results? As expected, the cancer profile got fewer likes than the inconspicuous profile.  However, the people and communications on the honest cancer profile were more fulfilling. 

I had some matches that shared their own cancer stories, others that were so sweet and asked considerate questions, and, of course, some with strange cancer kinks. Not all winners. I felt accepted for who I was, and not who I was portraying. 

Despite this, it was still hard not to seek validation in the likes and to look at the stark decline in matches as a loss of attractiveness or viability. There were times I would go days without a like and wonder if I deserved a place in the dating pool at all.

Warning Labels

Disclosure was the most stressful part of the dating process. Being vulnerable to a stranger about your medical struggles is hard enough, then throw in the pressures of a first date… That is a recipe for nerves. 

There was way less stress for the matches I received on my cancer profile. They already knew what they were signing up for and that made arranging a date or having a conversation feel more comfortable.  

With my inconspicuous profile matches, I had to decide whether to break the news via text pre-date, in-person on the first date, or not at all. 

That choice would eat at me and varied for each partner and their vibe. I ended up feeling most comfortable wearing a wig and disclosing the information in person at the end of the first date once I got a sense of the connection with the other person.  A question I found myself asking was: “Is this person worthy of this knowledge?”  

If I didn’t think there would be a second date, then they didn’t get to know my truth.

📖 RELATED: How To Reclaim Intimacy After Cancer, According to Medically-Informed Therapists

Health Above All Else

Physical health is top priority. If you do not feel good, have low blood counts, or are in no shape to go out, then stay home!  I pushed this boundary to go on a date and ended up in the hospital with sepsis. Not worth it.

Mental health can be overlooked, but it was a big factor during my dating journey. It is important to recognize why you are doing this. There were some times it was distinctly for validation, while others I was genuinely seeking my person. Occasionally, I just wanted to feel normal.

It is crucial to remember that your body is yours. You may feel that doctors have taken ownership of it as you have been passed around getting treatments and surgeries. You may not fully recognize yourself anymore or may even feel betrayed by your own cells.  However, it is still you. Never let someone take away your autonomy. Set and maintain physical boundaries with your partners and protect your sexual health.

Final Assessment

When I was told I had cancer, I felt like damaged goods on the dating market. After my aforementioned trial and errors, I now know that is remarkably untrue.

Throughout my dating experiences, the words of one of my oncology nurses always popped up: “If you aren’t living the life you’re fighting so hard for, what is the point?”