Dying to Tell You

Kimberly has an astounding way of facing her cancer diagnosis. Not just because she does it with humor and pragmatism. But also because of her ability to say to herself, "You don't have to handle that specific part of all this today. In fact, I know you can't handle that right now. You're not ready. But Future You can handle it, and I know she will." 
That takes a deep understanding and trust in yourself, and it's truly inspiring to hear.
Ten years before her diagnosis, Kimberly was told her exhaustion was nothing — just take a nap. After all, she had two kids and work and just...life. Of course she was tired. But it continued on and seemed like more than just life. 
It took a decade to find out it was cancer that had already reached her liver. In this episode, Kimberly and Cody talk about choosing how much medical information to carry and when, the rhythms she built to survive a brutal chemo schedule, and the online community she started — Cancer Is a Joke — built on the belief that humor and hope both have a place in a hard diagnosis.
You can find Kimberly online at cancerisajoke.com
This episode is sponsored by Iliff School of Theology's Death Care Collective, with courses available at https://www.iliffdeathcare.com/

Alan Watts said "The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance." This week, Cody reminds us that change isn't something we control but how we react to it is.
Without exception, every single guest on Dying To Tell You has come face-to-face with something they neither expected nor wanted. Change has crashed into their lives, shattering their sense of a normal world.
Last week's episode with Bridget is a perfect—and somewhat literal—expression of that idea. After being cancer free for years, a car crash brought cancer back into her life and now she's facing it once again, but with a different perspective.
In this week's Reflection, Cody talks about the whiplash he's felt in the past several weeks, bouncing from life event to life event (to life event), all of them momentous, none of them the same. He turns to the teachings of Eckhart Tolle for support. And the words of Alan Watts set the beat for he and the rest of us can keep moving. 

Five years cancer-free, Bridget thought she was in the clear — until a scan the day of a minor surgery revealed stage four metastatic breast cancer. A hospice and palliative care nurse practitioner herself, she talks with Cody about the oncologist who told her "we don't talk numbers, we talk living," the financial toll no one warns you about, her faith, and why she's determined to outlive every statistic she's ever been given. Join us for a conversation about living fully, on her own terms.
Sponsored by Iliff Death Care Collective - https://www.iliff.edu/death-care-collective/

Sitting with someone facing difficulty—an illness, a crisis of any kind, even their own mortality—is in itself difficult. And how we react in those moments can either make it easier for that person, or harder. 
Many times, our instinct is to soothe. And while that's not wrong, the way we go about it might be. 
This week, Cody reflects on something Courtney brought up in last week's episode, when the people around her offered what they thought was comfort but instead delivered the exact opposite effect. 
Be sure to listen to Courtney's full episode "Living Inside I Don't Know" and find all episodes at dttypodcast.com

Courtney was in the best shape of her life — and also the most exhausted she'd ever been. Her body had started sending signals that no one, including herself, knew how to read yet. A stroke scare that turned out to be a misdiagnosed migraine. Weeks of worsening symptoms she chalked up to ordinary aches. And then, on a family trip to Mexico, a swollen neck that sent her home and straight into emergency surgery.
What followed was a diagnosis so rare that her own doctors didn't have statistics to give her — she was told, at first, that she had "the good kind" of cancer. She didn't. She asked, point-blank, whether she was going to die, and got the only honest answer available: I don't know.
Four years later, after a successful treatment, she's still living inside that answer. Courtney and Cody talk about the twelve days between diagnosis and chemo, the slow stretch from three-month scans to yearly ones, and the arm lump she's mid-wait on right now — a fresh round of "I don't know" playing out in real time.
They talk about the strange, hard-won gift of learning to trust herself after years of not being able to, the unsettling nature of strangers projecting their faith onto her, and why "I'll pray for you" can be the emptiest thing a person can say — and what to do instead.
And they talk about what she wants to leave behind for her kids: not a diagnosis, but a habit of kindness.
Find Courtney online as @cancercourtney and at https://cancercourtney-press.cliniewski.chatgpt.site
 
Dying to Tell You is sponsored by the Iliff School of Theology's Death Care Collective. Learn more about their educational programs for end-of-life care at https://www.iliffdeathcare.com

As a palliative care chaplain, Cody has helped hundreds of people transition from life to death. This past week, he faced a different but maybe more relatable situation for the majority of us—his dog died. And as he and his wife sat on the floor and helped their dog through his final moments, they told him, "Good job." 
We should all be so lucky.
In this week's reflection, Cody talks about his conversation with Jonathan and how it reminded him of the moving and hopeful vision he has about a peaceful end of life, when all your loved ones come to tell you that you've done well and to thank you for all you've done. 
 

Jonathan Pascual is a lung transplant nurse practitioner and 16-time Ironman finisher who's spent years helping other people through the end of their lives. Now, three and a half years into his own terminal diagnosis, he's still training, still racing — including a finish at the Ironman World Championship in Kona. Movement is his medicine, and stoic philosophy is his compass. Join Cody for a conversation about clarity, defiance, and what it means to keep choosing to move, even when the rock keeps rolling back down. 

Nobody turns to their car for comfort. Nobody's pain is eased by holding a wad of cash. Especially in times of challenge, all we have is each other.
Cody's deeply personal reflection this week points to this critical fact of life. We see this so movingly in MaRee's kids coming together to support her as she sold her house and became the wandering mom with ALS, welcome in every home, supported at every turn. 
And Cody himself saw this when he attended and spoke at a dear friend's Celebration of Life this past week. Amid all the grief and sadness, he felt the real meaning of connection and support from the people around him. 
All we have is each other. Give it a listen today, and be sure to listen to MaRee's full episode if you haven't already. 

It took MaRee two full years to figure out what was happening to her body, and at the end of that frustrating journey she faced the one diagnosis she most feared — ALS.
Maybe because of the severity of that diagnosis. Maybe because she's a hospice nurse of 17 years who's cared for ALS patients and knows what's coming. Or maybe because she simply is who she is. Whatever the reason, MaRee took the advice she was given straight to her generous heart: Do It Now. Don't wait. 
She quit her job, sold her home, and has been traveling with her family ever since. She's racked up more miles than anyone else we can think of in the year since she's been diagnosed. 
For more information on the sponsor of this episode, please visit the Iliff Death Care Collective.
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Why? The shortest, most impossible question. 
The ironies and injustices of terminal diagnoses seem impossible to reconcile. They came up in last week's episode as we talked with Ross, who went from expert to patient in the space of four days.
Cody reflects on not just that but also on what we can do when we face these kinds of unanswerable questions. And the one thing he finds we can do is kindness. We can be kind. And for people facing their own terminal diagnosis, we can be kind in a very specific, meaningful way.