Thanksgiving has come and gone and I find myself still trying to figure out the last game changer thrown at us. The last scan results were not what we had expected or hoped for. There was no change in the tumors. It was hard to take. I know that no reduction is not good, but no new growth is positive, so I hang on to that. I am also, like Kev, trying to digest all that this means. He has to take a break from the chemo, they are afraid of the neuropathy he has, afraid of it getting worse, afraid of it becoming permanent. The break is for two months, then he will have a new scan and they will re-evaluate. Kev wasn't prepared for the news, but I think he was more than ready for a break. The havoc that chemo has been wreaking on his system has had him scared, the pain of the neuropathy terrified. He wants to give natural solutions a try during this time. We are throwing all that nature has to offer at it. I find myself praying that it works, praying that the tumors don't grow back during this time. I don't think I can handle going back to square one, going back to the time where I was scared all the time.

It is so strange to realize what is now so normal for us. Thanksgiving with the family was sweet and fun. There was laughter in our house, beautiful pictures were taken, glasses of wine poured, turkey eaten. Intermingled in this normalcy was Kev disappearing at times to do different therapies, to rest. No one commented, all that were here were used to it, supportive. There was no need to ask what was going on, it was just our new normal. Strange. Even the kids find our behaviour normal, don't question it. It is freeing in a way though, Kev no longer feels the need to hide his ostomy from them, nor does he hide the therapies he has taken on. To them it's just what daddy does in between playing with them and helping them with their homework. Normal.

We had our cheque presentation at Wellspring this week and it was definitely bittersweet. The wonderful people who run this organization were very happy to accept the over fifty-seven thousand dollars raised this year at Ribbons of Hope, their programs and expansion needing the funding as the number of people needing their support has grown exponentially. My family is part of that growth, and I know only to well how much the support offered at Wellspring is needed, know it first hand. I hope that Ribbons of Hope will be able to survive not only the loss of Connie, but of Luise as she and her family embark on a new life in the Caribbean. I can't think now of what will be next year. I tend not to make plans too far in advance these days, but I do allow myself to dream of better days, of time with friends, of the milestones my children will pass through. Kev and I had a great conversation about how much we will enjoy spoiling our own grandchildren one day. It is the only way my mind allows me to see the future, and that's just o.k with me. I just have to remember that for every door that closes, one is opened, so here's to kicking that door down and running through with arms wide and eyes smiling. It's the way to LIVE.