Welcome to my blog gentle people, it's lovely to have your company.
I hope you will find something to inspire you and perhaps
take the time to leave me a comment.
Here is the challenge for this week, you have until Dec 31st to enter.
To see what the guests and design team have created.
I find it difficult to achieve accurate colour when photographing white and ivory, so this looks a bit muddy - it's much better IRL
Because I had a lot of journalling I tried to keep
the layout fairly simple and use lots of white space.
The mason jar is from American Crafts.
Some lovely Kaisercraft collectables, "On this day"
The embossed brick stamp is by Deep Red
Love the versatile words from Scrapmatts Words, 01 and 03
A few sparkly bits from Prima and it's finished.
I did have a whoopsy with the stamping,
so I just cut it out to the shape I wanted
and stuck it on a new piece of card stock.
I went to the Journal Jar prompts and chose to write about the most serious illness I have had.
This photo was taken around the five year mark, when I felt almost brave enough to hope for a future. But the slightest thing could push me off kilter, extinguish the hope; send me down dark alleyways, swept along by fear and tossed helplessly on rough seas of despair.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, the story began years before, when the specialist told me I had Cancer, that I needed to have radical, invasive surgery and that the odds of survival were 50/50.
I felt angry and cheated that this could happen when I ate healthily, was not overweight and exercised regularly. Why me? What had I ever done to deserve this? I felt out of control, confused by different medical opinions and raped by invasive procedures.
Because of my nursing experience, I knew exactly what to expect and that increased my terror; I’d assisted at the surgery they proposed, which left the operating theatre looking like a slaughter house.
If I died, no one else would Mother my children as well as I could, nurture them with loving kindness and steer them on the path to adulthood. How would my husband cope with working and raising the children on his own?
The post operative pain was beyond description, only eased by a superb night nurse who topped up my pain medication, before positioning me as gently as a new born. I never saw her face, but I would recognise her soothing voice anywhere. The nights seemed interminable; once I recall sitting bolt upright in bed and screaming “I want my Mother!” My body ached and my heart ached for her loving arms.
We were blessed by the kindness of family and friends, who provided meals, did the laundry and collected children from school. They brought books and flowers and massaged my aching body.
I have disabilities because of the surgery, but I have gifts too. If someone had asked me, if I wanted to waltz with Jack Dancer I would have said a resounding NO. But there are gifts which came with it. Previously a bit of a pessimist and inclined to melancholy, I’ve learned not to worry too much about the future, to enjoy each moment, to stop and smell the roses, to tell people I love them and to be grateful that I’m one of the 50% who survived. My glass is always half full. Journalling 5th Dec 2014