My fiance, and I have been through hell, and back. I steal a line from George R. R. Martin when describing our family: "[We] have a soft spot for cripples, bastards, and broken things.". 2 guys, who met by accident, their resuce dog, with a big heart, and a bionic leg, and a crazy cat with 7 toes on each paw, found happiness in a home filled with laughter. I met my fiance on an online dating application for gay men, when one of my 9 siblings was playing with my phone. She decided to message him, mostly as a goof, and he responded, then asked me to coffee. He is a musician, and composer from Florida, and I work in Infectious Disease Control. He is creative, where I am analytical. He needs creative chaos, where I am often a slave to my OCD. His family is Italian, affectionate, and is one of 3 kids, where I, am from a family of 10, that was Irish catholic, and filled with sarcasm and playful-wit. So we met half way. We sruvived long distance when he left the north east, where we met, to pursue a PhD in florida immediately after his double masters from BOCO. I stayed behind with my Gov job in HIV/AIDS/STI prevention/care in the north east. Shortly before leaving he was diagnosed with precancerous GI tumors. We spent the first year of his PhD struggling through surgeries, recitals, and bi-weekly flights to BOS/GVN to be near each other. Even our goofy pit-bull/Boxer mix got a "Pet-Passport" chip so he could travel with me to help care for my fiance, who cant help but smile when our clumsy dog comes to see him, in any condition. Despite 5 scopes, 4 surgeries, biopsies, promotions, holiday stress, traveling, and all that consumes a couples life when buying their first home; we survived. The biggest semester he had for treatments he got a 4.0, the next he had another 2 surgeries, yet still performed a recitle of 7 pieces with over 40 performers 2 weeks after surgery, where 1 piece (a string quartet with female soloist) was written to thank me for being by his side. We bought our first house in April. A multi-level town home. Bright red. He was in recovery at his parents home, so I was charged with POA, and signed for the house, filled the paperwork, and built a surprise home gym so he could recover at his own pace. Our house is a revolving door. We always have friends, guests, family, and stray animals coming and going. We balance our different hobbies, by combining them in our decor. Form the "Game Room" on our top floor, filled with my obsession for movies, to the his samuri swords mounted on the walls of our "Training-Room" in the cellar. He teaches voice to private students, while I hand out condoms, and do marketing designs. We found our niche. He's healing, and I am learning that life has messes that even my OCD can't clean up.
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