It's your Christmas. Love it.

            I finally resurrected the Christmas tree today.

            I say finally, because normally it would have already have been standing proudly for around two weeks. This year, I haven’t been feeling very festive however, so I delayed it for as long as I could. The house is on the market, there are hopes and dreams hanging on this sale, and it’s been stressful. Keeping the house in tiptop shape everyday, becomes a chore.

 And the Christmas tree won’t help. That was my excuse anyway.

            Even so, I made hubby take the box down from the cupboard early this morning. I searched for the tree stand, which every year I place in a safe place, and every year I forget where I put it. Eventually, I find it, and set forth on the task at hand. And of course it’s a thirty-degree morning, so it’s a hot and sweaty task too.

            Once the tree is up, the branches in place, the decorations are next. Because my hearts not in it, I decide on no lights. It will only mean more work when I have to take it down! Bad, I know. And when I delve into the bags of baubles, I’m reminded why I do like Christmas.

The round bauble, that is as old as me. My mother gave it me; it was one that she had purchased the year I was born. Thankfully, after being carefully wrapped up last year, it has survived to be hung once more, fifty years later. I find the decorations that we’ve collected as we travelled the world. Angels from Bali, Santa on the Empire State Building and Santa in his board shorts, he was found in Macy’s at Waikiki. 
There’s the pink ribbon bauble, and the pink flamingo from Vegas, and of course the angel that sits proudly at the top. I remember lifting my son so he could place it up there, and now he just lifts his arm and doesn’t have to try hard, as he towers as tall as the tree.

            I’m reminded of why I do love Christmas. It unites us. It makes us happy. We make time to catch up with friends, see family that we don’t always see, even if that is hard at times. Because like most of you know, a dysfunctional family doesn’t make it easy at this time of the year, but we make the effort. The kids all together, the growing family as girlfriends and boyfriends join in. 

The tradition of so much food, even though every year we swear we’ll not over do it, we always do. The hot summer day, spending most of it in the pool. Cold drinks in hand, relaxation, and not a care in the world. Even if if it is just for one day.

It’s appreciating what we have, and whom we have around us, it’s being thankful for all that and more. It’s remembering those that are not with us any longer. It’s another year almost over, and another about to begin, with the promise of the unknown, new adventures, new beginnings, new memories to make. It’s spending time with the ones you love, and most importantly the ones that love you back.

Christmas. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be sometimes, but we make it what we want it to be. Even if is just a quiet day on your own, spent in your pj’s all day in front of the television. If that’s what you want, then do it.

            It’s Christmas. Don’t set your expectations to high, don’t compare your day to others, and don’t pay attention to the picture perfect advertising.

            It’s your day.

            It’s your Christmas.  Enjoy it.

Live, Laugh, Love. 

        Jo x

Girls, you are worthy of so much more, don’t expect anything less.

Girls, you are worthy of so much more, don’t expect anything less.

You’re in high school. You have a boyfriend.

 So do all your friends, they’ve told you how they’ve had sex, proud of it, you feel as if you’re missing out on something, because you haven’t done the deed.

You’ve kissed, you’ve been touched, and you’ve touched him. That’s it though, nothing has continued any further, because you stopped him. Now, your friend is talking about everything she’s done, you just nod, you don’t add anything, and anyway, what would you say?

And then she calls you on it. You’re a virgin.

By now others have joined your discussion, and since you are the one being ridiculed, and they are not, they join in. Your innocence is evident, you blush, you ask them to shut-up. They don’t, they keep pushing, asking when you are going to go through with it. So, in an effort to stop the chatter, you blurt out it’s happening. It’s happening soon. You have plans.

When next you see your boyfriend, he pushes just that little but further, like he always does. But this time you don’t say no. He says he’ll use a condom, but in the heat of the moment, forgets. Promises he’ll pull out, but in the heat of the moment, he forgets.

It’s okay. This one time should be okay, it’s your first time, and you won’t fall pregnant. He promises you his clean. No chance of catching anything from him. Not being sexually active, you don’t even know what diseases might be possible.

So, you’re no longer a virgin. You look in the mirror, but you don’t look any different to the day before. Will your friends notice?

When you see them next, they ask if anything happened. You say yes. They get excited, finally, you’re one of us. Funny, you don’t feel better about that. You’re now a part of that group; strangely it doesn’t change anything though. You don’t feel cool, you don’t feel part of the in-crowd, and all you are thinking is what was all the fuss about.

It had hurt and you had seen blood afterwards. After kissing you, touching you, you both had taken off your clothes. It was awkward, as you’d only known each other a few months after all. He said he loved you. You said it back.

What is love anyway?

You’ve read about it, snuck some pages in from Fifty Shades, they were in love, right? And anyway, love will grow, as the sex gets better.

After two weeks, he breaks up with you. You’re not his type, and he tells everyone that he was your first, that he took your virginity. He’s so proud of himself. You are heart broken.

Why do you want to grow up so fast?

Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat. The pressure is on to achieve the most likes, the most comments; take the best selfie, be the most creative, stir up some shit. Have the most friends, live the best life, and have the best boyfriend. Show the best cleavage.

What happened to having best friends, real people, who are there when you just want to hang out. Talk boys, talk girl stuff, shop together, and share each other’s clothes.

Try out hairstyles, do each others make - up. Make phone calls, late at night, chat, and plan the weekend. Walk to the local store, buy an ice cream, walk back, laughing at the world.

Instead, you want to be eighteen before your time, be treated like an adult even though you are still just a child. You know what? Enjoy being a child. The grown up life, is not all its made out to be. Enjoy your teens, enjoy the phase that fades into adulthood. You’ll never get it back.

Your body is coping with so much change, your hormones run rampant, you don’t understand. Get to know yourself, listen to your thoughts, and believe in yourself.

Boys.

Boys are there. And a boyfriend is a natural progression in life. First kisses, holding hands, someone to hug you, hold you, make you feel loved, treasured, special, and beautiful. Because if that’s not how he makes you feel, then he doesn’t deserve you.

He should make you smile, the only tears that are seen, are tears of laughter, he should make you laugh, hold your belly type of laughs. He should want you for who you are, not want to change you. And the same should be said for you, the boy you love should be a person that you value, that you respect for who they are. Love shouldn’t make you change into someone that isn’t yourself.

Wear clothes that flatter your body. Don’t reveal too much, the less you reveal the more there is to wonder about. You don’t have to be perfect, there is nothing wrong with having flaws, they give you character, they reveal something about you, the person that you are, the person that you are becoming. Your beauty will shine from within, it’s not something that you can mask or paint on.

Love your girlfriends too. The strongest women are the ones that look after each other, praise each other, and compliment each other. They don’t put each other down. They survive together.

At the end of the day, you are wholly responsible for the life you lead. Your parents are there to guide you, to support you, and while at times you think that they are so against everything you want to do, they love you.

The decisions that you make will always have a consequence. Its how you deal with that outcome that defines you, life can be a shitty thing, and it’s not always roses, rainbows and unicorns. Your heart will be broken, those that you thought of as friends, will let you down. You will let yourself down. Learn from your mistakes, become a better person.

Learn to love yourself. For how can you love someone else, if initially you don’t love yourself. Know what makes you happy, chase those dreams, and plan your future. Treat yourself with kid gloves, you are special, you deserve to be treated like that by others as well.

What I’m not saying here is to save your virginity for marriage. In this day and age, I know that is a rarity. I also am a firm believer that if you are to spend the rest of your life with someone, then it should be someone that you know everything about. Being in a relationship, and living with someone day in and day out, are two very different things. You will be surprised.

What I’m saying is, the man that does get the privilege of being your first love, should be worthy of that honor. He should have your trust, and your heart. It is something that you will remember for the rest of your life. Because then, and only then, will you realise what all the fuss is about.

You only have one life ahead of you, make it the life you want to live now, not everything will go to plan, but at the end of it all, you want to be proud of the life you’ve lived.

Always,

Jo.

Live, Laugh, Love. xx

I have begun an online writing course via a site called 'Rebelle Society.'
www.rebellesociety.com
I'm enjoying it.

Todays prompt was;
DAY 4 - DAILY PROMPT 

Imagine the world is ending in 24 hours. Write the way it will end and how you would fill the hours.

This is what I wrote. 

We lie together, ignoring the loud commotion that surrounds us. The windows are rattling, and I can hear a dog howling in the distance. I feel his touch. His fingers leave a trail of sensation as he traces the skin from my shoulders down to my belly. I look into his eyes so full of emotion, betraying the bravado that he is trying to display to me. I reach up and touch his face, I feel the stubble beneath my fingers, there was no use in keeping up appearances, it was just us, nobody else to see. There was no reason to leave the house over the past few days. Our employers had closed their doors, and we were no longer required. The end was near.

            The reports stated that nothing else could be done; the meteor could not be re-directed. It would be a direct hit. Cherish the time with your loved ones they said, remain indoors they said. Try to remain calm they said. This was very easy to listen to but harder to achieve. Who could remain calm, knowing that it was over? Your life, your world, your everything was ending. Life would be snuffed out. He had remained the strong one, he had held me as I cried, held me as I said goodbye to my parents over a phone call. Held me as I looked out the window when the sky became dark, and holds me still.

            So now I know, this was it. I tell him how much I love him, how I would not have survived these years without him, his support has been endless as the cancer consumed my body. To think now the cancer still survived, still ate away at me, and the end would come from something much more sinister outside. The wind now roars through the trees, the sound unbearable. I watch him as he smiles. I love you he says to me, you are an amazing woman, I would not be the man I am without you in my life. I kiss him. I thank him. I love him.

            I hear the explosions far away, and then they become closer. He lies atop of me now, and I feel him inside of me. Our lips are melded together, the sounds of our lovemaking is all I hear. I lift my hips, pushing him deeper inside of me, the muscles in my belly now contracting, the feeling deep inside resonates the love we feel at this moment. I hear him roar out my name, I hold his head tighter to me. My lips are one with his, our tongues melding.

            I hear nothing else. The room is in complete darkness. I moan as I reach the pinnacle with him, my back arching into him. Then he is gone. He is heavy. I close my eyes. One deep breath. And then silence.

@josephine brierley 2015

Three years ago today..........I was told I had breast cancer.

Three years. 

New York City

A lot has transpired in three years. We've had two trips to the United States, visiting places that I had only dreamed of. My all time favourite was New York City, and laying back on the grass in Central Park, I remember feeling ever so thankful to be able to enjoy such an adventure. How fortunate was I!

As I am ever so grateful, for so many other memories I have made over the past three years.

My son is now 23, living independently and enjoying life as only he can.

My stepchildren, now 28, 25 and 17 respectively, have each developed their own charismatic ways, and as hard as it was to begin with, I am now a big part of their lives.

Our baby for sixteen years, Roy the big, boofy sausage dog, passed away. He had been a big part of our family for so long, that it was like losing a child in the end.

Roy x

My husband's love of cooking continues, and now I dread eating out, because honestly, he cooks so much better than any restaurant!

Oh, and I've reached that enchanting age of 50. Phew!

But the most significant thing that has shifted in the past three years is my own acceptance of the choice I made. I still to this day, remember vividly the phone call I received around 5 pm on Friday 6th July 2012. Marie at Dr De Viana's office, patiently explaining to me, that after the biopsy that had been performed two days earlier, the resulting tests had concluded that I did indeed have breast cancer. The roaring in my ears, as I struggled to pay attention to what she was saying to me, and my husband who stood nearby, could tell the news was not good. I had to ignore him at the time or I would have broken down. She told me to visit the doctor in a week time, and he would discuss treatment options, thank you I said and hung up. 

I wept as Rob held me, I still didn't really accept the diagnosis until the next morning, when I decided I should tell my family. They cried, as anticipated, it isn't something that anyone takes easily I suppose. That terrible C word always conjures up connotations of the worst outcomes. And so, I trudged through my week, before visiting the doctor again. Of course, during that time Dr Google became my best friend, or my worst enemy, depending on which way you looked at it.

Ductal carcinoma in situ was what I had been diagnosed with. Essentially, cancer had developed within my milk duct, and my body had informed me, by giving me a leaky, bleeding nipple. The first time I noticed the discharge was on a holiday in Bali, when someone saw blood on my clothing, a bit frightful, but I thought maybe I had scratched myself, so I didn't really worry too much. Then, I noticed drops of blood on the bed sheets, and more over time in my bra at the end of the day. By the time I got home, I was slightly concerned, my own G.P said not to worry its just an infection, probably the heat. Mmm, not sure about that, however, I took the antibiotics prescribed, and revisited him after two weeks when it continued. This was in March by the way.

Yes, I merrily went along with my life, probably prioritising things the wrong way. I travel for work, so being away meant I couldn't do anything about it, in hindsight maybe I did that on purpose, so I didn't have to face anything ugly. I managed a visit in April, let's see you in a few weeks, they tested some of the mucous, it was inconclusive. A mammogram, which made a huge blob of gunk ooze out. But no, still not sure. Let's do an ultrasound, a widened milk duct was apparent. Still, we're not certain. This is usually nothing, but let's do a biopsy, just in case. 

Thank God for the just in case. 

It's breast cancer.

So, the following Friday, we were there again. Rob with me, clutching my hand, the appointment delayed, it's 6.30pm by the time we are called in. The doctor is surprised by the outcome, well no shit, so was I. He explains what he had cut out, the size of it, 2.5cm apparently. That's a fair chunk of my boob, no wonder the scar looked like it did. He explained on the diagram in front of me, it looked like a whole bunch of cauliflower. Even Rob was mesmerized. I just wanted him to cut to the chase, and tell me what would happen next. Now, I knew what it was.

You have two alternatives. Radiation. Visit the clinic daily for eight weeks. Get the side of my boob blasted and burnt, did I want my body exposed to that type of therapy? At the end of it all, if my margins weren't clear after the treatment, then I would have to proceed with a mastectomy anyhow. And so, a mastectomy was the way that I was veering towards. I had Googled it. I understood what was involved. The offending breast would be gone, chopped off. 

Mastectomy - apparently originated from the Greek language - "breast" and "cutting out". Yep, that defined it. Oh, and since the nipple has been bleeding, that would have to go as well. And can I have both done? That's a big decision, think about it. I'd thought about it. I was 47 years old. I wanted them to look the same, vain maybe, particularly since it was only Rob and me who would see them. Yet, it was what I wanted. I wanted the cancer gone.

On the way home, I craved Red Rooster, a Hawaiian pack. I got it. It was terrible. I answered all my phone calls, revealed what I was doing, in one weeks time. More tears, from everyone. Once home, three strong Bacardi and cokes settled me down. I didn't sleep very much all week; I caught up with family, some not understanding why I was doing what I was doing. Not even understanding that it was my decision in the end. I organised work, faced many questions, and answered them as best I could. Christmas in July on Saturday night with friends. Friends who understood and were there for me. For us. The night before my surgery, I don't think I slept at all. I tossed and turned, and questioned if I was making a rational decision. By morning, the answer was yes.

B - day arrived.

Monday 23rd July - Boobie day. Forms, questions, further scans, more tests. And when the time actually came, more tears. My breasts were drawn over, and once again he explained that my breasts would be cut away, and reconstruction would begin. This was it, once I was given something to relax me, I sailed off to la-la land. Waking much later, I don't remember too much. I was in pain, and there was a button I could press for pain relief. I didn't like it though it made me too woozy. I touched myself. I was flat. My chest was nothing, no curves, no nipples, just flat. I cried. Why me? It was a question I would ask again, several times over the months ahead. With no reply. No answer.

I recovered slowly. I questioned my decision many times, notably as the first infills happened and the pain of stretching skin hit me. Wow, I just didn't expect that. It was during this time when I recognised, how many people truly cared, the well wishes flooded in, and the flower deliveries were overwhelming. I certainly felt the love. My scars were red, then faded to pink. I rubbed oil in to help them heal. I had lumps now, not breasts. There were no nipples, they really were just two lumps filled with saline. Hard to touch no warmth and no sensation. Three months later, we embarked on our first U.S holiday, beginning it in Fiji so we could wind down. Let's try something adventurous Rob said, I agreed. 

Well, I couldn't get us into the parasailing, but we are doing a 40km Jet Ski ride tomorrow. Holy shit.


As we launched, I held on for dear life. Three months ago I would never have done anything like this. My fears wouldn't have let me, I was adventurous when I was younger, but nowadays I even had developed a fear of heights.
 

YAHOOOOO!

Now, as the Jet Ski bumped over the waves, all I could think was that I was going to die. Surely, there were sharks out here; we're travelling from the resort at Nadi to Beachcomber Island and back. Then a thought set in. Three months ago, I'd had surgery, I'd had a mastectomy. In some way, someone or something had notified me of the cancer that existed in my body. It could have sat unnoticed for months, or years, until it was too late. I was lucky. I was alive. Be damned if I wasn't going to enjoy this ride. I yahooed so loud, that Rob just laughed, then told me to hang on as he drove that Jet Ski fast. It was a fabulous day.

Now, three years later, I am the ripe old age of 50, the new 40 they say! I don't know how to explain that as soon as my birthday clicked over, my outlook on life changed. I had survived all these years, half of my life, or more, was over. It was time to ground myself, know what I desired and chase those goals. Know whom I needed in my life and keep them. Start living for me. I shrug my shoulders now, at matters that once would have caused me grief. It is such a great feeling to be able to do that. My breasts now are what they are. They are lumps still, maybe a bit more movement than before, softer to touch. The scars have faded, almost-white lines now, around and across the middle. The nipples Dr De Viana formed are amazing, skin puckered and sewn just right. The areola tattoos have faded, and there is no way I am touching them up because that pain was the worst of all. They are boobs, well, my version of boobs, they still have no feeling. No sensation. They are mine though.

Best of all, they are cancer free.

My body is my body. There are elements of it that I can do something about, and I have to. Too much frivolity and cheer have caused the kilos to pile on, I can work on that. I can live with my wrinkles, that are now starting to appear, and I can sort of live with the grey hairs that now seem to have taken over. I'm a bit slower than I used to be, but I can become fitter. I need to keep my mind active, I must drink a little less and I need to eat a little healthier. I now make time for the people that want me in their life, and I don't worry so much about those that choose not to. I am me, and will no longer fit into anyone else's rules. I am there for all our kids, whenever they need me, but their independence also makes me proud.

As I grow older, death becomes more of a part of my life. Saying goodbye to people is difficult, a few get to live a long and fruitful life, some get taken from us much too early.

It's hard to comprehend.

Mothers Day Classic

So here I am today, three surgeries later and three years later. I am thankful, for the life I have, the incredible husband who calls me his wife, and walks me every Mothers Day in his pink tutu.
The children we have raised and I am excited for the future that lays ahead for us. I will remain vocal about what I went through, it might not have been as hard for me as it has been for some other women, but I did deal with cancer, and I did lose my breasts. My choice to have a mastectomy is not for everyone, but it was my choice.

I am pleased. I am proud of me.

Ladies, check your boobies all the time, any slight change could mean anything. Don't hesitate to have it checked out. And all you men, if you feel something unusual, then say so.

Life is good, and if by speaking out, I can support just one person out there, I am happy.

Live, laugh, love and treasure every moment.

 Jo.  Join me on my Facebook page.  www.facebook.com/josephinebrierleyauthor