Thankful...and Moving On...

Is it wrong to not feel particularly thankful this year at Thanksgiving, or throughout the year?  Ah...there you go. Some of you slipping into your soft shoes for the conversational two-step that lies ahead. "Do I tell him he's wrong to be ungrateful in our land of such plenty?  Do I tell him it's ok just this once, just for him to get down in the dumps?  He didn't actually say he was ungrateful, there's some nuance here, maybe if I parse my answer, what does parse mean....?  What do I say?  What does he mean?"

Look, I'm not ungrateful. Perhaps I have thankfulness fatigue on Thanksgiving weekend much the same way I weary of the frozen smiles on New Years Eve.  So what are we going on about here?

All That I Have

I mean that I know I come from a wealthy land and a wealthy family, comparatively speaking. I say thanks and ask for God's protection every day during morning prayers for all this and more.  Once upon a time, I traveled like a boss and took clients to the finest restaurants.  I have savoured the sweet smoky earthiness of the perfect scotch in one hand, the perfect cigar in the other, the perfect band on stage and a beautiful sunset on the patio, all at the same time.  I'd have a lot of autographs if I collected famous people's signatures; I don't.  My car works; both of my cars do and so did I before I got sick.  I own property (I told you I was wealthy!) My meds are covered. 

I met and married the most beautiful woman who gave birth to a most beautiful baby, three of them actually. One grew up to be the other most beautiful woman I know. 

I mean that for a brief period of time after I was ordained as a deacon in the Roman Catholic Church, I was able to do the work of charity, liturgy and a touch of evangelizing here and there, and there, and dear God, even there....  I mean that God had my back. I mean that God feels so strongly of my work in palliative care, it is apparently His will I join the ranks of the dying while I am still busy living. I mean that I am blessed to have the strength of my faith tempted by despair, anger, discomfort and pain, fatigue and bewilderment. His will, not mine...   

God, I laugh when they tell me I'm courageous.

All That I Want...

I mean that it is a blessing that while I never took everything I had for granted, I am not burdened with a sense of impending loss, of sorrow, of doom.  I was never all that attached to the things of this earth, though I do appreciate a good car, a great steak, a decent glass of wine and a good laugh every now and then. 

...Is What God Wants For Me

I mean I give thanks to God for the things I have, and say prayers for the people I love.  Claire and I are blessed with adult children who share our faith, expressed in quiet thanks for the people in our lives, and absolute disregard (contempt?) for that which can be bought or sold.

In December 2014 Jeremy Tyrrell was diagnosed with Mesothelioma, a disease considered to be incurable. He has already quietly outlived the initial prognosis of several months and attributes it to the love of God, the prayers of friends and family, and the wonder of traditional modern medicine.

Here is the Tyrrell family, anti-clockwise from the bottom; Claire, Jeremy, Andrew with his wife Katie, Emily, Graeme

Post Chemo follow-up August 2015

It's time for another update, but if I may cheat a bit, instead of composing an entirely new Blog entry, I thought I'd just share the contents of an email I sent to my friend John, who is the Director of Deacons for the Diocese of London. 

"Hi John.  Things are going well at the moment, thank you. 

Chemo ended three weeks ago and typically it's about now I would have received another dose, so it will be interesting (in a "my life depends on it" kind of way) to see how the cancer will behave without anything to impede the inevitable progression. I find myself short of breath and having to wear the O2 a bit more this week, but Claire reminds me that this is always the case in the days leading up to my chemo treatment.  If it gets worse is what I'm waiting to see.  I am glad chemo is over, it was brutal but from what I have seen and read I haven't had it as bad as most others. Looking around and seeing a few of the other patients in the chemo lounge every 3 weeks I realized how very fortunate I have been. 

It is, however, a bit frustrating to have to admit that I can't do all the things I once could. Last Friday I said to Claire that I felt great and I planned to serve at Mass the next day.  The next day I couldn't get out of bed for more than about an hour at a time so I didn't even get to Mass.  I'm dying to go to Red Lobster for shrimp, but I only managed 3 bites of Claire's amazing roast chicken last night, and besides, I don't have the energy to go to a restaurant. It's like I'm living one life in my mind, and a different life in reality. 

As you've patiently experienced John, I may be a bit stubborn and I may not catch on right away, but when I do I don't let go, and I'm all in. So let's pray I can reconcile the new normal sooner than later.  But that doesn't stop me from hoping I can make the diaconal ordination in November. At one time I wouldn't dream of making plans more than 2 weeks out, so the chemo treatment has offered hope. 

Overall, I'm still in good health and as always, in good spirits. I finally have the stamina to spend more of my day in prayer and that helps me stay connected with our deacon community.  Considering that at one time I was anticipating a June or August funeral (July is way too hot) I would say that the treatment has increased my life span just a bit. 

Thanks for checking in. Thanks again for coming to see us, and for offering a Mass on my behalf. I hope you are well, and please extend my best wishes to Susan. I will continue to pray for you as I do every day. "For those who herd cats in the name of the Good Shepherd, we pray..."

Jeremy

Deacon Jeremy Tyrrell

Sent from my Holy iPad

Nearer my Dog...

I was thinking we should take a break from the usual passive-aggressive post about how all of you should change your behaviour in order to please me.  Let me tell you instead about a good and loyal friend, she of the wet nose and wagging tail crowd. 

My dog Molly.  First off, I guess that's the thing about dogs. My wife and I, three kids, one dog and she is thought of as "my dog" by each of us. We share unique and personal relationships with the family dog, don't we?  And it's the dog who makes it that way, because they give uniquely and personally of themselves individually, meeting us where we are.

Seven months ago I was diagnosed with Mesothelioma, a cancer that is thought to be incurable and one that is viciously present and spreading throughout my lungs, lymph nodes and my abdomen. Molly hasn't left my side since I've been home with my illness.  She, almost literally, has an eye on me all the time. If it's not lying at my feet at the end of the bed, she's watching me at my spot in the study from her spot in the living room.  The living room view gives her best reaction time should any of the thieves and murderers walking by our front door attempt unauthorized entry, or worse - dare to walk their dog on our section of the street.  The she-devil in the Canada Post uniform will never be given quarter.  Never!  You may be able to fool the mistress of the house with a smile and a People magazine, but not our Molly. 

And when a friend comes through my door they are subject to an inspection as thorough and efficient as any airport in the nation, and to watchful surveillance for the duration of their visit.  Sure, it is disguised as playful efforts to engage the guest in toy-throwing, petting behind the ears and endless belly rubs.  She's crafty, that one.

When this cancer nightmare began and nights were pain filled, marked by endless coughing and sleepless hours, on more than one occasion I awoke to find her standing just inches from my face, staring at me, watching me sleep.  She could smell the disease in me. At the same time she would not allow an afternoon nap too deep. On more than one occasion she nuzzled me awake just as I was about to go into a very deep sleep. I have no doubts she was making sure that I was going to wake up.  Ain't nobody checking out on her watch!

Sometimes I find myself just staring at her as she watches out the front window. (We call it SquirrellTV).  She has a beautiful profile, but here's the thing. She's a dog. She is not a replacement human. She is not a "fur-baby". Her needs do not take precedence over those of any human being. We love her, of course we do. In her own way she is a member of the family. But we know that it isn't right to forget our place on God's earth - of stewardship and that we are of the highest order of all of God's creatures, and therefore entrusted with the care of the lower orders, my beloved dog being one of them.

I wish I could love as unconditionally as my dog does me. I wish I was as happy to see my wife and kids every time they walked in the door as my dog is to see me and the truth is, I am. But I don't show it and I think they're ok with that arrangement.  And I also know that God loves me just that much and more, just as unconditionally and more.  I wish I could love as God loves. 

When I come home after work it doesn't matter if I wasn't my best self that day, or to whom I owe apologies; she doesn't care. I've put on a few pounds, she doesn't care. I'm not much fun to be around lately, especially chemo weeks, and who's putting in 20 hours of sleep right beside me?  My 10 year old puppy, Molly. 

And who else waits for me patiently even if I've been neglectful?  Who walks beside me always?  By which supernatural strength am I getting through this difficult time?

The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, that's who. 

And oh yeah...Molly, truly a Border Collie / Labrador experience of what heaven must surely be like, and a reminder of what life here on earth can be.

Molly in classic belly-rub position 

My Cancer, my Friends Near and Afar

"And that's when I found out who my real friends are..."  In my years of ministry in palliative care, and since my own diagnosis I have heard that said more times than I can remember by folks who have hit catastrophic circumstances.  They are talking about how their friends behaved after hearing the news of their illness, job losses, divorce, etc. Some, as you can expect, were generous and kind, supportive...all the things one would expect of a good friend, often people who weren't previously close.  The caring shines through.

But in many, many cases a good friend seemingly disappears.

• I know of a guy who was in hospital for weeks because of a life-threatening disease.  Other than family, he had no visitors at all. This man is well respected in our industry and an invitation to his exclusive annual soirée is coveted.  And yet none could make it to his hospital bed or his home to say hi during recovery.  This was several years ago and the bad feelings linger.  He talks about how he thought he knew who his friends were (past tense).
• A woman shared a similar story, to the point of naming mutual friends she doesn't expect to ever see socially again, so ostracized was she.  And she used the same words describing these people whom she once thought of as friends. "I found out who my friends really were."
• Yet another still hasn't yet heard from some close family members, months into her husband's treatment. 
• A fellow I know told me that after we was layed off from his job of nigh on 20 years only one of his former peers reached out in the first few months, and only a trickle since.  As he struggled for words to express his sadness upon learning of my my terminal diagnosis perhaps he got a hint of the struggle we all faced when he was canned. What to say?  When to call?

In the brief six months since my diagnosis and when I began to tell my friends and co-workers of this fatal disease in my abdomen, my lungs and my lymph nodes, with maybe as much time left on the grassy side of the lawn as has already passed since diagnosis, I have experienced similar aloneness. This is not to say I haven't had many visitors and wouldn't have already had so many more were it not for my wretched chemo (I hate the thought of being a less than gracious host for any reason and so I reluctantly ask for no visitors some days).  What I am saying is that I am absolutely dumbfounded that some very close and trusted friends seemed to have turned their backs and ignored my attempts to reach out to them.  I don't just sit here and wait for text messages!

But you will never hear me refer to any of these as people whom I "once thought were my" friends, in the past tense. I still consider them to be friends. I just don't have the temperament after several attempts to continue trying to bridge the scary divide this cancer has caused between us.  I hate to play the cancer card, but here goes...  I can't carry other people's baggage as well as carry my own. I'm not asking anyone to carry mine. I'm just asking them to walk with me like we used to before, when we immortals. 

You know something?  I kind of pride myself in not getting too preachy in these little opinion pieces I write, but maybe, if nothing more, a little attribution is appropriate. So here's the Gospel angle. 

If Jesus could go to the grave without an ounce of rancor towards those who denied him, betrayed him or turned their backs to him, I figure maybe so can I. It would do them as much good to know forgiveness as it does me good to beg for God's help to forgive them and that they might forgive me if I've hurt them. 

So What Do I Do Now?

There are so many reasons one might ignore a dying friend, all of them by themselves quite understandable, not many of them valid under ordinary circumstances. For every reason I'd suggest one of the following.

1.  Confront the problem. If there's something you need to hear from your friend; an apology, forgiveness, whatever...ask for it. Offer it. 

2.  Get over it, whatever "it" is.  Afraid to see her without hair? Not sure what to say? Hate hospitals?

Funeral homes?  Get over it.  Get past it.  She didn't volunteer to be there either. 

 3.  However it goes, go with it. Support your friend, his wife and family. Bring over a casserole, hide behind huge bouquet or just show up with an extra coffee in hand. Whatever happens after that, go with it, even if it means nothing changes. Life isn't a TV movie, sometimes there are unhappy and unresolved endings. No, we can't all get along. 

4.  Do it. Do it right now. Pray for a little help, if that's your thing. 

My Cancer, My Chemo...Not Complaining, Just Saying

Bear with me, this is new for me.  I'm going to try and write about the negative side-effects of chemo, while experiencing them, and while at the same time conveying my overwhelmingly positive attitude on what is mostly a good day.  In other words, I'm going to try and tackle a delicate subject in a sensitive and thoughtful manner, while at the same time trying to stay focused and not distracted by said negative side-effects.  This blog post is a month to two overdue but that was the first to go with the first infusion of chemo - my ability to concentrate.

Clinging To...
I've made some pretty strong statements about false hope, flim-flam, alternative medicines...anything that sucks the money out of the wallets of the vulnerable, that dangles the unbelievable in front of the susceptible, against wasted optimism.  (Some would argue optimism is never wasted, I disagree but will concede that if not wasted, it is sometimes misplaced.)

A couple of weeks ago in the worst period post-chemo yet, I did a little clinging myself.  In my post chemo recovery I experience a nagging and persistent baseline nausea.  Look, even in my darkest misery thus far, I am keenly aware that others, most others, are suffering chemo effects far worse than I.  Even a couple of trips to Urgent Care in the last couple of months, once by ambulance, have only served to remind me that there are others, many others, in far worse condition.

And yet this ongoing, never ceasing nausea can occasionally get away from me, and on this occasion it led to a closer familiarisation with the family commode, one that I had desperately wanted to avoid.  I have a good friend who refers to that as the "childhood fear of vomiting."  Yup, not gonna deny it.

As I experienced the worst of it, and my spirit took a temporary leave of my wretched body to confer with my psyche, I began to wonder what was the point of all this?  Why put myself through such misery for a fatal disease that will not be cured by treatment?  The chemo is only to control the symptoms.

And it occurred to me that even a false hope, a faint chance of a cure if I believed, might be enough to make the next 90 seconds, if not bearable, then less insufferable.   And the next 90 seconds after that, and the next several minutes after that.  I understood. I needed something on which to focus; on which to cling.  I understood those who desperately embrace that which, given different circumstances, they might reject or at least retain some sense of caution. 

And while I don't begrudge those who take that route as a means, these are the short bursts of helplessness and discomfort and yes, pain that I knew were ahead of me when the verdict was rendered.  What was that line from Poltergeist?  "they're here...."

I don't know what the answer is.  When the pain grows more frequent or perhaps less manageable, what will be my focus point?  I just have to get through this so....  I have to hang on so that....so we can...  So what?  I don't know.  But I do know this.

I do not travel this path alone.

My Cancer Doesn't Suck

A little while ago I posted a YouTube video on why I don't think my cancer "sucks".  That seems to be the going sentiment in my group of social media friends, that Cancer Sucks!, and it has always bothered me.  Until it became personal I couldn't really express how I felt, certainly not in a way that might not have been considered disrespectful of other's feelings.  I hadn't walked in their shoes, and still haven't; each individual's experience is different.

My short video doesn't really do justice to how I feel.  Here's what I mean to say.

• To say that something "sucks" diminishes it.  The phrase is best applied to little stuff that doesn't really make a difference in the big picture.  Like missing out on low gas prices because you procrastinated on filling up.  That sucks, and it's small stuff.  A diagnosis of cancer IS the big picture, particularly if one, like me, learns that there is no cure in the foreseeable future, and further, with mesothelioma there is no foreseeable future.  It is a fast moving, nasty disease.

• I think it's too easy to copy and paste a "Cancer Sucks" meme, so it's the lack of effort that not only bothers me, but again, the failure to even scratch the surface of how the disease affects families, friends and co-workers.

• It's hard to be continually told that my "cancer sucks" from well-meaning friends.  It's not very encouraging or uplifting, and it's not at all how I feel.  Perhaps a way around it for someone reaching out for the first time, unsure and bit nervous, is to ask.  "How do you feel?" or even "How do you feel about all of this?"  I am very appreciative that almost every friend has asked the follow-up question, "how are the kids doing with all this?"  Warms my heart.

• And finally, for any of us in this home to say "cancer sucks" is like giving in to self-pity and woe.  In this house we openly discuss this disease and all (and I do mean ALL) of its ramifications.  But it doesn't define us and it's not the only thing we talk about.  For example, we all seem to agree that the 2013/2014 Leafs SUCKED!

My cancer doesn't suck and here's why.  It is a reality, an ever-changing new normal, and a fact-of-life we, my family and I, live with every day, unflinching, head on, and one step at a time.  We are not being brave or courageous because in order to be either, you have to first be afraid. We are not afraid.  We don't like any of this, we are not looking forward to some of it, but we are not afraid.  We are neither fighting nor battling cancer; I'd hate for you to read those words in my obituary.  We are living with today's reality today in a way that makes good medical, spiritual and common sense for us.

Tomorrow's reality will come tomorrow, and we'll face it head on, then.

The Wrong Thing

Since my diagnosis with a life-threatening disease, I have had many conversations with many friends that usually, at some point, hit the sentiment that my friend is afraid to say the wrong thing.  There are many more unrealized interactions with friends who are so afraid, they can't speak at all.  That's a shame, if ever there was someone to practice on, I assure you it's me.  I believe that even the wrong thing said from the heart, without malice or bad intent, is the right thing.  For me, worse than saying the wrong thing is avoiding me.

But that's me, and that's not true of everyone.

Susan Silk and Barry Goldman, in an op-ed piece for the LA Times, suggest the "ring theory" in choosing one words in all crises - medical, job loss, divorce, death....  Their theory says to comfort in, dump out.

In short, imagine the person of concern in the middle of concentric rings.  It's their job loss, diagnosis, crisis...they can say anything to anyone as they come to grips with their new normal.  In the next ring is a spouse and the kids.  They may have concerns and feel like complaining about the situation, but they can't do it to the person in the middle, only outwards to the next circle.  That may include the employer, and very close friends.  Outwards from there is associates, parishioners, friends and extended family.  And so on.  (This incidentally is the exact order in which we announced my cancer; we actually thought of it in terms of concentric rings and started working from the middle out.)

So while you may wish to tell the afflicted that life isn't fair, it shouldn't happen to such a nice person, etc. that is exactly the wrong thing to say to the wrong person.  Believe me, I know first hand.  That kind of talk comes with an expectation that the person will offer you comfort - which frankly, I haven't the energy to do for outer circle friends and associates.  Offer me, offer my wife and kids words of comfort instead, and save your complaining to the person in the circle further out - your husband who's never met me, for example.

Here's a link to the original article.  If it won't help you in dealing with me, don't worry, you'll have lots of practice as life goes on and reality hits someone you can't avoid.  http://goo.gl/ZOKxr

My Cancer, My Fault?

Sometimes I get the feeling people are expecting all sorts of life wisdom from me because I've been diagnosed with a life threatening disease.  I wish they'd asked me when I was in my twenties.  I knew everything then.  But here's how things look to me today...

Something bad happens to a friend or a stranger, and we wonder why.  But then we take it a bit further and wonder, could it happen to me?  And then we construct reasons why it couldn't.  A home invasion on the other side of town - couldn't happen to me because it was that side of town and they were probably involved in drugs or something.  A guy I work with gets laid off - must be his fault, he must have been a bad employee.  Someone gets cancer - they must have smoked.  Has to be, otherwise it could happen to me.  Otherwise this could happen to someone I love.

People tell me I'm such a nice guy and this deadly disease shouldn't be happening to me.  They can't seem to come up with the name of someone to whom it should be happening, when asked.  And yes, I ask.  I know that's cruel.

People throw around the concept of Karma, which doesn't bother me if they're Buddhist or Hindu.  But I have to ask, if you believe in Karma, what do you imagine I did so wrong that earned me an incurable, ugly disease?

Sometimes crap happens to good people.  Sometimes crap happens to bad people.  At some point crap happens to everyone.  Assigning blame won't make you immune.

Accepting your own frail reality might bring you peace.

My Best Before Date

I'm getting all sorts of good press (if you count Facebook likes and Twitter retweets as "press") for the way I'm seen to be handling my life-threatening illness.  But there needs to be one good friend in everyone's life, and mine called it as he saw it.  "Are you in f*ck'in denial?"

Maybe I am.  Anyone can appear to be a hero before the going gets tough.  We haven't hit the tough part yet with my little problem.

Some people are impressed that I still go to work everyday.  I'm not.  I look at things as if I wasn't one of the privileged, as if I lived in a time or place where there were no social safety nets, no savings, no benevolent bosses.  In a different world I'd have no choice.  In this world, in many ways I don't.

But there is the other side of the coin.  If it happens that I expire before my best before date, then my wife and I will have missed out on the retirement years together.  Is it fair that I don't try to capture at least some of what that might have looked like while I'm still in great shape?

I am putting my resume in at Walmart later today.  I'm going to make a hell of a greeter.

End of Life Issues in 2015

2015 will be an important year in discussing end of life issues in Canada.  There is a federal election scheduled for October, and almost certainly the "Dying with Dignity" debate will be engaged.  Indeed, two of the major political party leaders have stated that only those candidates whose views match those of their own, that Canadians should have the right to physician assisted suicide, will be eligible to run for their parties.  Those parties are the NDP and the Liberals.  In effect, on this important matter of conscience, the leaders have instructed their members to check their conscience at the door and toe the party line.

In effect, Catholics are not welcome in either the NDP or Liberal party.  Aah, I hear you say, not every Catholic believes in protecting life from conception to natural death.  Aye, there's the rub.  Do you then believe it's cool if not every NDP or Liberal or Conservative actually believes in every plank of the party platform, swearing allegiance publicly but acting quite differently when it suits him?

I think the Catholic Church takes a lot of heat when it reminds it's members of the "rules", political parties not so much.  In truth, no Catholic can in good conscience run for Justin Trudeau's party.  That's too bad for two reasons.  First, Catholics without good conscience will run and that will be seen as tacit endorsement by the church (since everyone knows every Catholic's every word and action is a reflection on the entire church, especially when it's bad), and secondly that the well-formed conscience of any denomination or faith tradition will not be in the room.

It will be our responsibility to watch carefully and rise above the emotion, as the results will effect generations to come.  Powerful testimonial videos and interviews from suffering, terminally ill people will be the propaganda in favour of dying with dignity.  Less easy to find will be video testimony from those who wish to live with dignity until their dying breath.  Same prognosis, same pain, same suffering....different and uncomfortably unpopular expression of truth.

Cheerleaders and Cancer

When I was a student at QSS I used to enjoy going to the football games against our arch rivals: everyone else.  But especially Moira.  And Trenton High.

The cheerleaders looked pretty, the young men on the field were handsome and athletic, but I wasn't there for either.  (Actually, some of the guys were ugly spuds and a good face mashing into the turf would have only improved their looks.)

I was fascinated by the dynamics, the interaction, the hype and the strategy.  I paid closer attention to the coaches than the players, to the plays than the game.  One thing struck me then as strange and still does to this day.  It was the cheerleaders shouting "we're going to fight, we're going to fight, we're going to win!"

Seriously?  When we've never won against this team before?  Are you psychic?  And who is this "we" you speak of?  I'm not on the field; my buddies George, and Shane, and Donny and a bunch of other guys are.

Clearly they weren't talking to the players, it was to the team supporters.  Their job was to get us all hyped up so the positive energy would carry the day, or at least bolster the training, strategy and determination of the team.  I respect that.  Hey, keep your spirits up fans, we're going to need it when the going gets tough.

But there is no place for cheerleaders in my cancer diagnosis.  I really hate the encouraging posts and messages from my well-meaning friends "you're going to fight this thing, you're going to win..."  "if anyone can beat this, you can!"  "be strong and your positive attitude will help you beat this" and my absolute least favourite, "cancer picked a fight with the wrong guy."

No pressure there folks.  Bring on the marching band.

Mesothelioma is thought to be an incurable disease.  I'm not fighting it.  Here's my plan.  I'm going to focus on the strategies and the plan, and if we don't achieve a winning outcome, then at least to beat the spread.

On the Treadmill

In the years I volunteered with Hospice and did my ministry of charity in palliative care and bereavement, it never failed to surprise me when families and those affected by serious illness would draw me into their confidence, sharing endless facts about their treatments.  They'd rattle off names of drugs and doses, procedures and therapies I'd never heard of but of which they were all too uncomfortably familiar.

I used think of this as being "on the treadmill", when the focus of every day becomes the next test, the next injection, the next procedure, the next laborious minute.  I'd watch people run in place, putting a lot of work into making very slow progress.  Such is the new normal with a life-threatening illness.

The treadmill of medical treatment is the great equalizer in Canada.  Whether you're great or small, when you find yourself in ill-health the basement blood lab looks about the same to everyone.  Some believe that the well-connected get preferential treatment.  I know of at least two well-known and influential politicians and their families who have waited for their turn just like everyone else and I respect them all the more for it.  I also have experienced first-hand exceptional care and concern from the medical community.

A few years back in the year of a milestone birthday I went for a physical, and my family doctor asked me what had prompted me.  I joked that I wanted one last check-up while I was still in warranty.  He shook his head and said, gently, "I've got news for you, Jeremy.  You were never in warranty."

Maybe not.  But I am on the treadmill.