(I posted this a few weeks ago, then deleted it shortly thereafter when I kept having to respond to people who misunderstood it. Hopefully I’ve written it less ambiguously this time. Please understand that this story is not about my misfortune, but rather about what little you can expect emotionally from a woman.)

I recently got some devastating medical news. Long story short, my days of walking are likely nearing an end. As an active, healthy guy in very good shape, who thought he was decades away from the chance of this ever happening, it hit me pretty hard.

I got the news on a Tuesday afternoon, and had a dentist appointment the next morning. My hygienist is, like many hygienists, smoking hot. I’ve been seeing her for years, and we’ve even had sex a few times, either between or during relationships with other people. Plus she’s just a cool chick. We text somewhat regularly, go to the same gym, and eat lunch on occasion, partly because I never know when she’s going to be feeling horny again and I want to be ready for it. So yeah, I’m her Chad. The larger point here is that she’s not just some faceless woman who cleans my teeth every few months.

On this last visit, I was nowhere near my usual outgoing and charming self. I’d been hit by a metaphorical truck hours earlier, and it showed. I gave one-word answers to her questions, barely engaged, didn’t make eye contact, and just wanted to get out of there and go home and be alone and figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my new life.

She said I seemed sad. Of course I said no, I’m fine, but couldn’t help behaving as if I wasn’t. When I struggled to get out of the chair she asked if everything was OK. I said, “Actually, I’m screwed” but didn’t give any details. (There isn’t much privacy in her office, and besides she had another patient ready to go.) We usually end our appointments with a kiss and a hug, and maybe a discreet ass grab. This time I just literally stumbled out, paid at the counter, and left.

And I haven’t heard a word from her since. No call, no text, nothing. This from a woman whom I usually speak with weekly or biweekly.

Say the roles had been reversed. If a woman whom I always enjoyed the company of was not being her normal self, and something was obviously wrong with her, I’d contact her the first chance I got and ask what the matter was. Can I help, do you need anything, etc. This isn’t being an orbiter; it’s just being a decent human being. I’d do the same if it were a guy. But when it’s a man who’s suffering and a woman who’s witnessing it, the woman’s immediate instinct is to get away from the situation.

The moment your SMV falls, you might as well be invisible. In the past, my hygienist could always count on me to flirt with her, make her laugh, be something for her to look forward to in a workday filled with scraping tartar off the teeth of patients who never floss. I’d basically charm the scrubs off her. This time, the attractive guy she normally deals with was replaced by a miserable, frustrated, physically compromised guy. In other words, someone who can’t improve her emotional state and thus is of no use to her. When she used to think about me, I assume the thoughts were positive. Now, the thoughts aren’t negative, nor even neutral. They’re nonexistent. I’m completely off her radar, and will be unless my SMV ever recovers.

Women are not compassionate. Or if they ever are, it’s only because that particular instance of compassion is secondary to something else they’re trying to achieve (impressing their friends, being a good mother, whatever.) Women’s self-centeredness colors all their behaviors, without exception.

TL;DR: Women don’t give a damn about your inherent goodness, or any similar concept. They care only about how you make them feel. When your SMV goes down a couple of points, that’s kryptonite to women.