Here we go again, on the merry-go-round that never seems to stop in the same place twice. Again my life has flipped over, or has it flipped back? I have lost track. All I really know is that I keep moving forward somehow.

It was some time after new years eve that Kev returned, to me and his family. He is back to being the Kevin I know, and for that I cannot express how grateful I am. We have put those two and a half months behind us, have decided together to move forward and leave that awful time in the past. I find it comforting that I have been able to forget so easily, but forgiveness comes easy when I know it wasn't really Kev making the decisions he did. Anyone who knows Kev could tell the difference between him and this other person he became for that period. The stranger is gone now, and that's all I care about.

With the return of my Kev came the realization that the cancer still exists. That has been a hard realization as it's almost like reliving it all over again. He has been off chemo since September, and the scans that were set for Feb. 6th were daunting to say the least. There was still the hope that things were o.k., and that the cancer had been held off somehow. We weren't in a dreamworld where we thought it was gone, but hoping for the best is just part of the game. I think without hope I wouldn't be able to handle the ride. There has always been hope, through it all. There still is. I truly did believe that the results would be good though, as we were to get them on Valentine's day. Love is supposed to win out isn't it?

The results weren't good. Though the cancer is still contained in his liver, the tumors have doubled in size, some even more so. His doctor was quick to point out however that he is not back at square one, the double measurement from their shrunken size, not their original size. Again I found myself in a hospital exam room with the breath sucked out of me, this time not holding my belly, but bouncing a beautiful baby on my lap. He was so beautifully unaware of his surroundings and of what was being said. I found myself listening, but staring at the baby, gravitating towards the pure goodness in the room. It made my heart hurt to watch Kev have to absorb this news. He looked so sad, but somehow not surprised. In some way he had been expecting it. He hasn't been feeling well, his right side causing him pain more often, his weight beginning to slip.

There are a few options chemo related that have to be discussed, new directions to be decided. It is another fork in the road and we are just hopeful that the right path will be chosen. In the mean time, we still focus on life. I have been accepted into teacher's college that starts this summer, a focus for the future. Most of all we focus on the present. If you don't, it becomes your past way too fast. This week marks our one year anniversary. A cancer anniversary. Bittersweet. Bitter because there is such a hard battle ahead of us, sweet because they gave him two months last year. Unlike last year, this week has been filled with family dinners, watching movies, spending time in the hot tub, laughing. We are spending our time better, cherishing this time always and will continue to do so.

It has been a long, long time. Feels like a lifetime with all that has happened in the last few months. The game changers keep coming at me with a vengeance and I am doing my best to wade through the rubble they leave in their wake. I am not always successful.

It was about two months ago now that things took a turn for the worse in a way that I wasn't expecting. Kev had some sort of mental breakdown, screamed throughout the night, told me I was responsible for his cancer and that he wants a divorce. He was out of his mind and I could do nothing to stop the rant, nor change the outcome. He left that next morning and nothing has been the same since.

He did have another scan, which showed two new lesions on his liver and minimal growth, though this information came to me through reports I read, as he doesn't want me involved in his care at all. He proceeded to have the loop colostomy closed, his oncologist agreeing to this surgery with the warning that there could be further growth due to the delay from treatment while recuperating from the surgery. All of this to him is a non issue however, as in the state that he is in, he truly believes he is cancer free and no longer needs treatment.

I am truly trying to do my best in this very difficult situation, but can't seem to keep the hurt and anger away at times. I feel like I am in mourning, my life and family forever changed, and none of it for the good. I just want to shake him sometimes, bring back the kev I knew and loved, and send away this stranger that has taken his place. He is happier being this stranger right now, as this stranger doesn't have to fight for his life, this stranger can forget about 18 years of loving someone, this stranger has no responsibilities to anyone.

It is new years eve, and I sit here counting down the minutes until this year is finally behind me. Even with all the hurt, I still wish for peace in this new year that is upon me, I still wish for life and health for Kev, and the hope that he finds the peace he is obviously looking for. It really does sadden me to say that cancer was able to claim a life this year, the life that was my family. I will not however let it win, and I will rebuild, with my three beautiful boys at my side. So a very happy new years to all, and may blessings abound in this new and full of promise year...xo.

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.

Well, we got through the last chemo treatment of this cycle, and it went out with a bang, not a whimper. It was the first day of school, so I had to stay behind this time to take the boys. Cian started junior kindergarten and wanted mommy to be there even as excited as he was to finally be going to Quin's school. Kev's mom took him to chemo, but it was a rough go right from the start. He didn't want to go, was afraid of more side effects, afraid of the process, wary of the way the steroids that accompany the chemo make him feel. I try to understand, but I still need him to go, need him to continue the fight. It scares me when he says he's tired. Due to the long delays at sunnybrook I was able to join him for the last couple of hours of treatment. He seemed to be alright despite the bumpy start and we made it home without incident. As much as I always hope he won't be sick I am learning that that thought is futile. I was lulled into a false sense of security only to have that blown apart days later. I really had believed we has come through unscathed this time. We didn't.

September 10th was Ribbons of Hope day. I had my cousin come to look after the kids after their soccer cup day and made my way to Angus Glen. Raising money for Wellspring has always been important, but for obvious reasons, this year was much more personal. It was the tournament and auction that Connie, for the first time, was not there for. Her presence was felt, but sorely missed. It really scares me that someone like her who had so much fight, so much love, such a strong will could loose the battle. I ask the question why? all the time now. No matter how many times I ask however, it just isn't answered. I think I need to go back to Wellspring even if it's just to sit in the Ribbons of Hope peer support room. Connie's presence is very strong there, I always seem to leave feeling better, stronger. I spoke at the fundraiser this time, giving the caregiver perspective on Wellspring. It jut seemed very surreal standing there talking, that this was my experience. It made last year seem so very long ago, when my life was simple and Connie was laughing, passing me a glass of wine. Was it really just last year?

Scan day was Wednesday the 14th, and that was pretty uneventful. It seems like a cruel joke to make us wait until the 27th to get the results. Kev says he doesn't want to go to hear what they have to say. He wants me to go and then to let him know what happens. I know he will change his mind, that he's just frustrated with the process, knows the game changer is lurking. We know he had to go off this chemo, that the neurological effects were getting to bad, could be permanent. I think he's afraid of what comes next...what the next step will be. The path again is getting rocky. As long as we can keep our footing, hold onto each other to keep from stumbling, we have a chance of getting through it. I am trying to keep my eyes on the path, not to focus on the destination. I'm trying.

I can't believe how much time has passed since my last post. Life has been a flurry of activity between chemo appointments and taking care of three little boys. Kev and I are at a constant sprint just to keep up.

Chemo started this round with a roar. We are still trying to figure out the right way to manage the meds so that he isn't sick. We weren't that successful the first round of this course and Kev was the most sick he has been, dry-heaving well into the early hours of the morning. It was one of the longest nights of my life so far. Tadhgan, sensing his daddy's pain, was up most of the night as well, leaving me bouncing from one to the other, torn in two.

Round two we decided to do things a little differently. Kev agreed to take his anti-nausea meds in the car on the way home from sunnybrook. I was hoping it would ward off any problems as taking it at home proved to be too late last time. It seemed to work and he had a pretty decent night all things considered. He felt so good that the next day he decided to come to Quin and Cian's soccer game. There was a chill in the air that wednesday, and the cold sensitivity he has kicked in with a vengeance. He smiled, said he was going back to the car to warm up. I sat there watching Quin play with Cian and Tadhgan at my side sad, knowing how much it hurt him to have to walk away from the game. I didn't know until my friend Deanna showed up at the field to pick us all up that Kev had gone back to the car only to be violently ill in the parking lot. He managed to drive himself home, again violently ill in the driveway and called Deanna for help, knowing he couldn't go back and get us at the field. It makes my heart ache to see how hard he has to fight every minute of every day, and how hard he works at protecting the kids from the horrors of this disease. The kids have normalized a lot of what goes on on a daily basis, only focusing on the fact that daddy is here, still gets breakfast, still kisses them goodnight.

It was a beautiful saturday in August that my friend Deanna got married to her lovely fiancee Steve, and I walked with her at the wedding as one of her bridesmaids. A magical wedding it was, made more so by Kev being there at my side. I watched him throughout the evening, laughing, smiling, joking. It was that rare night where I could forget what was happening, could pretend for a short while that everything was back to normal. We danced that night, and I will not soon forget the feeling of being in his arms on a dancefloor, sweet music filling the room. It was a gift that I carry with me and call upon when I am feeling sad and down. It makes me smile so I hold onto it with all my strength.

We have just come through another chemo week, this time feeling like we have found the right recipe for success. He has not been ill this time. It is a small victory in a series of battles and we'll take it. His doctor talked to us about taking him off this chemo, taking a small break and putting him on another cocktail. They are becoming more and more concerned about the neuropathic side effects he has been experiencing. We have one more round to go in this cycle, then the next scan. Then they change it up. Just when we feel like we got it right, there is going to be a game changer. I am forever reminding myself to be more hopeful than afraid and to keep my heart in the present. Life is about the journey. It isn't the end of the road that tells the story of our life, it's the road itself. I have my seatbelt on, it's one hell of a bumpy ride right now......but we're holding on.............

Today was a day filled with laughter and then tears. The last few weeks have been a roller coaster of emotions, and keeping up with life and all it has thrown at us is certainly taking its toll. Chemotherapy on the monday before the birth of our son was thankfully uneventful. We were fortunate enough to be looked after by three of our favorite chemo nurses who sent us on our way after the hours long treatment with hugs, kisses and well wishes. Kev paid strict attention to how he was feeling this time, and headed off nausea with the meds he was given, very motivated to be feeling well by thursday, to hold his son in his arms. There was no issues with him being unhooked from chemo on the wednesday, and we both fell into an exhausted sleep that night, excited about what was to come the very next morning.

The drive to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning was a quiet thoughtful one. I was starting to get nervous of the surgery, nervous that the baby was alright, nervous about the recovery and how it would affect how I care for my family. I was in good hands I kept saying to myself as we walked in. I was. My sister Maryellen was there to see her new nephew just minutes old, she wasn't for the first two, my cousin Karen was there to scrub in, a fantastic nurse who means the world to me, she was to be three for three having helped deliver the first two as well, and Kevin, my love and best friend who I had been so afraid would not be here for this occasion. I really needn't have worried, it was beautiful. It seemed just minutes after going into the operating room that they were telling us we had a beautiful baby boy. He was a miracle to look at, my eyes wide with wonder. They do the skin on skin practice at the hospital, and because I was unable to hold him at that time, they had outfitted Kev with a gown and had placed the baby against his bare chest, in his arms. To see this beautiful child snuggle up close to his father, Kev talking quietly to him, telling him how much he is loved was amazing, and the tears that came then were of pure joy. We were both crying happy tears, the chemo a distant memory, Tadhgan was here and now the focus.

Kev spent as much time at the hospital with us as he could, but having two little boys at home, he really had to split his time. I was however fortunate enough to be able to go home twenty-four hours later, the surgery went that well, and I was up and about and raring to go. Tadhgan Kevin Stem, 8lbs 10oz, born July 7th 2011, came home on the 8th, and has just fit into the family like he has always been a part of us. Quin and Cian are in love with their little brother, always making sure he is alright, never passing by without kissing him on the head.

July 8th not only was the day I brought Tadhgan home, it was also scan day. Kev went with his mom, I wasn't able to go, and that upset both of us. I really wanted to be there for him, and he really needed me there. The scan done, we were left with the waiting game, July 18th would be result day. The next week was spent doing just that, waiting and biding our time. Both of us were pretty hopeful that the results would be as great as the last time, that the idea of surgery would be revisited. That monday we woke up nervous and scared. Kev was so wound up about it he was sick, nerves and fear are a horrible mix. The results we got were not the spectacular results we had hoped for, though to keep things in perspective, there was still reductions in his tumors, including the primary. The disappointment came with the fact that the discussion of surgery was still very premature, and that chemo would start again this coming Tuesday. It was also hard to hear that they would have to reduce the strength of the chemo because the neuropathy Kev was experiencing in his hands and feet was getting worse, and could eventually affect his walking and his grasp. We were quiet and pensive on the way home, trying to digest what we had been told. We have come to the conclusion that the terrible road that we are on is just longer than we had thought, that the nightmare continues to rage on, but we haven`t been beaten. Talking to my belly was one thing, but now Kev has this living breathing beautiful reminder of why the fight will continue with a vengeance, why the war has to be won. Despite all the ups and downs, neither of us will accept any other outcome than growing old together, watching our children grow.....together.

Life goes on, and it is a very busy time for us. It doesn't help that I feel like I am treading water on a river that sometimes moves faster than I can keep up with. The river's rapids keep pushing me under water, but then I seem to pop up and tread again successfully. It's a very unsettling feeling.

Father's day was an amazing gift in our house. The boys had made Kev special gifts and cards that came from their hearts and we spent the whole day with family. Kev seemed to have an abundance of energy, and was more like himself than he has been. As always these days, we took lots of pictures and when I go back and look at them they make me smile. It all looks so normal, so right. The pictures leaving out the worry and strain, only showing the love and the happiness. I will always cherish them.

Chemo week number three came with a lot of trepidation, mostly due to the mistakes made last round. It went off without a hitch though this time, and leaving the hospital Kev felt really good about things, felt almost healthy. Unfortunately it didn't last. We were home only a short time when it hit him, and it hit worse than I had seen yet. He was violently ill for hours upon hours. I had to call the hospital to ask the oncologist what to do. I was frightened. They insisted he would have to come in if it didn't stop, if he couldn't take water. He couldn't become dehydrated, it would compromise his treatment, it could be very serious. Kev didn't want to go, and promised me he would try water. He was finally able to sleep, exhausted from the dry heaves that had racked his body for hours. I woke him intermittently and pretty much forced him to have the water, but he didn't argue, didn't fight. He knew how important it was. We made it through the night, but for the next few days the nausea persisted and he was sick again. We had been told that chemo is accumulative, that the side effects could rear their ugly head at any time. They weren't kidding. I do believe we are lucky that this happened in round seven. Had it been right from the get go I don't know if Kev would have ever gone back. It truly was an eye opener of how blessed we have been.

This past off chemo week has been filled with kid stuff to keep our minds off of what happened. Kev's energy still wanes, and he has developed some sort of infection in his throat caused by the treatment, but again we are treading water and our heads are above the surface. Cian graduated from nursery school, Quin received his yellow belt in judo, Quin turned seven and Cian turned four. Birthday parties and a baby shower have made this week go very quickly, with wonderful memories and a great dose of happiness. These are the things that are bolstering Kev's spirits, and putting the fight back in him even when he breaks down and sobs, which still happens in the quiet of the night.

Here we are again, looking down at the final chemo week. This time the prize at the end is the birth of our little boy. Kev and I will be at Sunnybrook on Monday, and we will get through whatever happens together . His nurse Kay will come and unhook him from the chemo on Wednesday, and Thursday we go together to the hospital to welcome this gift of a child into the world. To me, as it is the end of this round of chemo, it is a sign of new life, new beginnings. One cold day in February, not so long ago, we were told Kev was sick, that there was a good chance he would not be there to see the birth of his child. I want those people to know that he will be the one holding his son with the big smile on his face in case they don't recognise him.