Category Archives: Jude and Megan

#SundayMusic | Perfection | John Prine’s Remarkable, Eternal 1971 Début Album

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Guitarist Jason Wilbur played on stage with John Prine for 1999’s  Live from Sessions at West 54th

One of the most celebrated singer/songwriters of his generation, John Prine was a master storyteller whose work was often witty and always heartfelt, frequently offering a sly but sincere reflection of his Midwestern roots, writing about the lives of ordinary people in a remarkable and perceptive way.

Widely cited as one of the most influential songwriters of his generation, Prine was known for his signature blend of humorous lyrics about love, life, and current events, often with elements of social commentary and satire, as well as sweet songs and melancholy ballads.

John Prine’s first record, simply titled John Prine (Atlantic, 1971), featured a photograph of the slightly impatient-looking young singer-songwriter seated on a bale of hay, hands cradled in his lap, with his guitar standing upright nearby.

The austerity of the image was a good reflection on the album’s contents: a baker’s dozen songs clocking in at about 43 minutes, performed mostly on acoustic guitar with a spare backing combo, delivered in a straightforward nasal drawl, with titles like Sam Stone, Donald and Lydia, Hello in There, Illegal Smile, and Souvenirs.

Beneath the casual simplicity of the presentation lies a treasure trove of lyrical beauty: detailed portraits of despair and loneliness, interspersed with witty cultural commentary about dimestore patriotism, back-to-nature movements, and the justice system’s obsession with people’s “illegal smiles.”

That first record wasn’t a big seller.

It peaked at #156 in the Billboard charts in 1972, a year after its initial release. But that small splash had big ripples down through the years. John Prine not only set the tone for his half-century career, it influenced several generations of American singer-songwriters working in the rock, country and folk traditions.

1971 was a year of disaffection and ennui. The Beatles had broken up, the hippie dream was over, four kids were shot in Ohio by National Guardsmen and you had Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young singing a protest song that was powerful at the time but who wants to listen now? Prine’s eyeglass was focused on all of the same things but his was an ironic, detached P.O.V. that remains vital and relevant.

The record is of that time but it is somehow of this time too, though Prine’s delivery and from where in his throat he’s singing obviously owes something to Dylan.

All through the 1970s Cathy and I would attend annually at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre with a packed audience gathered to appreciate John Prine.


John Prine on stage and singing with Iris DeMent (who we will write about another day)

Some artists are one hit wonders and one album wonders. Not Prine. He kept doing it and gathering up new fans right until the end, even when sickness made a physical mess of him.

John Prine died on April 20, 2020 of severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2 (SARS-Cov-2), the pandemic coronavirus that became known as COVID-19.

Stories of a Life | Oct. 31st | Raymond’s Surgery Day

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Saturday, October 31 2025, Raymond is admitted to VGH for a radical prostatectomy

As I’ve written previously, on Friday, October 31 2025, I was admitted to the Vancouver General Hospital for a radical prostatectomy, in response to my Stage 4 prostate cancer. My prostate would be removed over the course of a 3½ hour surgery.

My friend Susan Walsh drove me to the hospital, leaving at 8:45am, arriving at VGH at 9am, where she dropped me off.

I climbed the stairs on the west side of the Jim Pattison Pavilion, just off Laurel Street, and upon entering the building walked down the long corridor towards the Admitting desk, where a woman behind a glass enclosure told me that my arrival was expected. Next, I was directed to an elevator leading to the third floor,  and ushered into a carrel, with curtains on three sides, and given a blue gown to wear, a new, softer gown construction less given to exposing a patient’s body. I then climbed into what I found to be a quite comfy bed, the back of the bed tilted up.

No sooner was I comfy in my bed than a young woman in her 30s approached the carrel, my bed and me, introducing herself as Jen, the lead nurse on my upcoming prostate cancer surgery, that was planned to start 75 minutes hence.

Staring directly at me, Jen said …

“Cholangeo, huh?” ‘Yep’, I replied. “You know, Raymond, every other patient I’ve worked with who had been diagnosed with cholangeo died, yet here you are, looking pretty darn fit, and in good shape and quite ready for your upcoming cancer surgery. Why is it that you are here, lying in your comfortable bed, full of vim and vigour, when all of the other cholangeo patients who suffered from your cholangeo diagnosis are long gone, expiring within weeks or months. Gone. Dead.”

“A miracle,” I said. After which I explained what had occurred in the year of my discontent in being diagnosed and treated for my Hilar cholangeocarinoma.

“Well, I’m glad you’re still with us,” Jen said. “I’ll see you in the operating room in about an hour. I’ll be the one keeping an eye on the doctors to make sure that all goes well. You can count on me.”

An Explanatory Digression

Hilar cholangeocarinoma. A bit of background. On October 7th, 2016 I was diagnosed with Hilar cholangiocarcinoma by Dr. Fergal Donnellan.

Weekly for the next six months I attended at VGH where Dr. Donnellan installed a stent in my bile duct. By Christmas, I was in palliative care at St. John’s Hospice at the University of British Columbia. Apparently, I was a goner, the tests definitive.

Problem was, I felt pretty great (October 2016 was the worst month of pain I had ever experienced), in January 2017 attending the Women’s March — with Gwen Giesbrecht, currently running with COPE for a position on the Vancouver School Board, and longtime DTES community activist Wendy Pedersen, and her then 11-year-old daughter — to protest the election of Donald Trump as U.S. President.

Long story short, my family physician, Dr. Brad Fritz, assigned me to meet with VGH urology specialist and surgeon Dr. Andrzej  Buczkowski to review my case.

In early January 2017, Dr. Buczkowski showed me the results of several MRIs, CT scans and PET scans, which showed from the neck down,  the lymph nodes in my body were a flaming red, the bile duct cancer having spread throughout my body. Dr. Buczkowski expressed surprise that I looked healthy, and fit, when given the surfeit of tests I had been subjected to for months indicated I should be dead.

Over the course of the next two months, I was tested and re-tested, ending up on an operating table at Vancouver General Hospital at 6am on Friday morning, March 7 2017, where from 6am to 3pm, Dr. Donnellan rooted around in my body looking for the cancer spread — the results of the tests conducted by Dr. Buczkowski indicated that my bile duct cancer had disappeared. At 3pm, I was wheeled to a ward, still fast asleep, and still under the effects of the anaesthetic I had been given.

At 4:30pm, standing at the foot of my bed, Dr. Donnellan voiced what he told me later were the three most difficult words he had ever expressed: “It’s a miracle!” My cancer was gone, there was absolutely no trace of my cancer anywhere, not in my liver, pancreas, gall bladder, lungs, or bile duct. And so it has remained until, and I expect beyond, this day.

My friend Margery Duda, a longtime community pools advocate (whom Kareem Allam must meet), picked me up from the hospital to ferry me home.

I’ll write about the entire journey of my Hilar cholangeocarinoma in days to come.

Jen and I spoke for about 10 minutes, after which she departed, where upon three of her nurse colleagues who would be attending at my surgery approached my carrel to introduce themselves. Next up, my surgeon, a cheerful Dr. Miles Mannas and three of his urologist colleagues dropped by my carrel, as well as two oncologists who had been supervising my case, three anesthesiologists and the two doctors who would be conducting my upcoming, precise, robotic surgery.

At 10:25am I was wheeled into the operating room for my radical prostatectomy that, unlike the “photo” above (created with Gemini AI), appeared to be the size of a football field. I was approached by the lead anesthesiologist, with whom I had met previously, in preparation for my prostate cancer surgery. “I am going to apply the anesthetic now,” he said. And I was out like a light.

The surgery lasted until late afternoon, after which I was wheeled to a recovery ward, where I was attended to for the next 12 hours by an absolutely tremendous nurse — with a wry and wicked sense of humour — and very well cared for.

Alasdair and Fergus walking down Waterloo Street towards Almond Park

At 10am on Saturday morning, my friend Alasdair and his son Fergus (about whom I wrote on Tuesday) arrived to pick me up and take me home, where I remained bed-ridden for the next three months, continuing the worst part of my recovery through early June, cared for by Nick Ellan, Alasdair, his bride Meaghan (and their two children, Fergus and Elliott), my neighbours Heather, Judi, Kevin and Laurie — and all other members of my housing co-op, for that matter, about which circumstance, I will write several times over the coming weeks and months — my good friend Kelly Ryan, and the dog we share, Teague the schnauzer wonder dog.

Teague the schnauzer wonder dog, my constant and much loved companion

Health Update: Raymond Goes Into VGH today for Prostate Surgery at VGH

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Fourteen months after being diagnosed with Stage Four prostate cancer — as is the case with former U.S. President Joe Biden — today I was admitted to the Vancouver General Hospital for a three and a half hour radical robotic prostatectomy, after doctors at VGH discovered — following an MRI, a bone scan and a biopsy (more than one actually — that, like Joe Biden I had a Gleason score of 9 …

For the past 9 months, I have been subjected to a number of biopsies and regular injections, and participated in the Gun Study — a multi-centre North American clinical trial headed up by the Vancouver General Hospital’s Dr. Martin Gleave, the head of the Prostate Clinic at VGH.

Early on, it  was determined that I must have my prostate removed employing the radical robotic prostatecomy procedure.

Over the past months, I have taken a variety of medications — Apalalutamide, Zytiga and Prednisone — which has effectively removed my sexuality and turned me into a eunuch, which is to say a male who has been chemically castrated, and with the removal of my prostate surgically castrated.

This morning after being transported to Vancouver General Hospital by my friend, Susan Walsh — spouse of my friend, the late Michael Walsh, who for 50 years was the lead film critic at The Province newspaper — who accompanied me to Admitting, after which I was escorted to a bed in a ward in the south tower of the Jim Pattison Pavilion, on floor T6.

As you read this, I will be in surgery, a three and a half hour major surgery where an extensive, complex procedure will see my abdomen “opened up”, which is to say, my surgery involves entering a major body cavity ( in this case the abdomen). My anaesthesiologist told me that, under his supervision, I will be given a general anesthesia that will require an at least initial 72-hour long recovery period, requiring an overnight stay tonight, or if complications arise, an extended hospital stay. In any event, my anesthesiologist told me that, “Raymond, you will be ‘stoned’ for at least 72 hours.” Fun times ahead, I guess.

I will be left with three incisions — a three and a half inch vertical incision at the bottom of the public bone, and two more somewhat lesser incisions, top right and top left. I was told I must not lift anything heavier than 10 pounds post surgery, less the incisions rupture, creating wound dehiscence, which occurs when a surgical incision reopens, where internal organs might protrude through the wound.

https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/59ee0eecb10598d866c226de/1530884809264-3QUPXRQ5V372MQSDFE8K/Pubic-Bone-1.jpg?format=1500w

Should things to well with the surgery — which my family physician, Dr. Brad Fritz, Dr. Mannas, my surgeon (and other of his colleagues in the Prostate Clinic), and my anesthesiologist believes is most probable — I will be picked up from hospital at 10am on Saturday, by my friend the every beauteous, incredibly bright, politically astute, accomplished and loving Meaghan (and her incredibly great football (British football) loving husband Alasdair, and their two children, Fergus and Elliot, who are the most zen children I’ve ever met — needless to say, I love both children (a reciprocal affection, it would seem), as I do Alasdair and Meaghan.

Count me as one very lucky and grateful individual.

I will spend the weekend in bed at home, attended to by Susan, by my Co-op neighbours — again, count me as the luckiest man in the world that Jason, Heather, Laurie and Kevin, Tatiana, Judi, Jette, Alex, Alexandra and Jordan, and all of my other fellow Broadview Housing Co-op members are possessed of an uncommon humanity, and a dedication to building a better and more loving world.

Post surgery I will have a catheter inserted, for a period of one week — rather than the five plus weeks I had a very painful catheter inserted in March and April. Like ouch. Julia, the registered nurse who has given me regular injections over the past 9 months (“Pants down, Mr. Tomlin. Bend over now.”) will remove the catheter on Friday, November 7th. My friend, and personal health saviour, Kelly Ryan (we provide “co-parenting” of Teague) will travel with me to the Gordon and Leslie Diamond Centre for removal of the catheter, and then ferry me home.

Teague the dog, only the most loving dog in the world

There will be a one-year post surgery recovery period during which I will have to wear incontinence underwear. Friends of mine who have had prostate surgery tell me that the worst of the incontinence occurs during the first three or four months.

Now that I’m off the prostate medication, it is likely that my energy and vitality will return, affording me the opportunity to provide more intensive coverage of next year’s Vancouver municipal election.

My support for 46-year-young Vancouver Liberals Mayoral candidate Kareem Allam — Vancouver’s Zohran Mamdani (ssshhh, don’t tell anyone) remains strong, as I hope to write (extensively) in the months to come.

VanRamblings Weighs In On Raymond’s Health. Pt. 3

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To access Part One of my 2025 health update click here.

Part Two of my three-part health update may be found here.

I left you hanging yesterday. Sorry.

March and the early part of April this year proved to be the most painful period I have experienced in my life since October 2016, with my first cancer.

In early March, upon arriving home from a week’s vacation in Halifax visiting her mother, Kelly texted me from the airport to ask how I was doing. I told her I was in a great deal of pain, but I was going to tough it out. Despite having been up since 4:30am that morning, flying across the country, arriving back in Vancouver at 4pm, rather than drive home to be with her children, Kelly drove directly to my home, telling me, “Get in the car. I’m going to take you to UBC Hospital,” which she did.

UBC Hospital Admitting considered my situation to be an emergency, proceeding to immediately wheel me onto an emergency room bed, where I was seen by a doctor, who ordered the first of many CT scans, diagnosing me with a particularly severe case of diverticultis — which had hospitalized me in the autumn of 2023.

Diverticulitis can be, and proved to be in my case, a particularly painful gastrointestinal disorder characterized by inflammation of abnormal pouches — diverticula — that develops in the wall of the large intestine, causing severe lower abdominal pain, and could and would in my case worsen in intensity over the next week.

By the time I was diagnosed — with a distressingly painful catheter now inserted (which would remain in place for 6 weeks), I suggested to Kelly, as she sat by my side, that she must be beat, it was 1:30am Nova Scotia time, over the past 15 hours she’d flown across the country, and spent the last 5 hours by my side.

Given that I was now admitted to hospital, I assured Kelly that I’d be fine, and well cared by the attending physician, nurses, hospital staff and by my family doctor, who would visit me the next morning. As the hospital had provided with me with medication to lessen the pain, now was the time, I suggested to her, she return home to her family, and we’d talk the next morning.

Over the next two weeks, following a series of new CT scans, UBC Hospital changed its diagnosis to nephrolithiasis.

Nephrolithiasis specifically refers to calculi in the kidneys, commonly referred to as kidney stones. Renal calculi and ureteral calculi (ureterolithiasis) are often discussed in conjunction. Ureteral calculi originate in the kidneys, and as they grow can be lodged in the ureter. Genetic, metabolic, and environmental factors can contribute to stone formation. The majority of renal calculi contain calcium. The pain generated by renal colic is primarily caused by dilation, stretching, and spasm because of the acute ureteral obstruction.

I was told I would need surgery to remove a plethora of large kidney stones that were not only lodged in my intestines, but impacted and in my urethra, as well. That surgery occurred on April 9th at the Vancouver General Hospital. The attending surgeon removed a large kidney stone lodged in my uretha. Within the next hour, I passed 20 large kidney stones, and 20 somewhat smaller kidney stones.


Ocean Dental in Cancún, Mexico, providing high-quality dentistry (considered to be the best in North America) at a fraction of the cost, from 50% to 70% lower than in the United States and Canada.

The next day I got on a plane to fly to Cancún, Mexico for dental surgery, as I had arranged months earlier, that in Canada would cost me between seven and nine thousand dollars, but in Mexico — including air fare, accommodation, dental surgery preparation, X-Rays and examinations, extraction of an infected molar, periodontal surgery to repair infected gums, and the insertion of a state-of-the-art titanium tooth implant, the total came to $2700, while my companion, Nick Ellan and I, enjoyed wonderful four or five star Mexican cuisine each morning and evening. Although not particularly restful, I was grateful for the cost saving.

Note in passing: yes, I know many would consider it near insane for me to get on a plane, fly to another country for invasive dental surgery, following six weeks in bed / in hospital in Canada, and surgery to remove very painful kidney stones, that while still in pain, and very weak, nowhere near recovered, I would travel 6,333 kilometres away from home, from my doctors in Vancouver, and from safety.

I will write about my incredibly wonderful experience in Cancún, and a first rate relationship with Ocean Dental in another post. Suffice to say, I was very pleased.

In the months since mid-April, I have continued hormone treatment for my prostate cancer, with Jonathan Ma, and my uro-oncologist, Dr. Miles Mannas, had another biopsy (I’m still recovering), have worked with my skilled dentist / dental surgeon, Dr. Sandy Ko, who last month built a bone graft to facilitate the placement of another tooth implant this upcoming January — as a 31 year very appreciative patient of Dr. Ko, and given my impecunious circumstance, Dr. Ko is matching the price for the tooth implant charged by the UBC Dental Clinic. Next month, Dr. Ko will place a crown over the tooth implant I received in Mexico. Next June, I will have a crown placed over the tooth implant that will be inserted in January.

In addition to the above, I suffer from debilitating neuropathy, that makes it both difficult to walk, and to keep my balance (I have an almost complete loss of balance, standing in the shower is difficult, I am unsteady … no fun, let me tell you); have arthritis in my hands that makes it difficult to type; my Type 2 diabetes and once high A1C / blood sugar count is now pretty much under control; high blood pressure that is, for the most part, now under control; my two concerning heart conditions; and the ever concerning cancerous state of my prostate, with attendant constant fatigue and woeful lack of energy, intermittent pain — gastrointestinal distress (a near constant upset stomach leading to an utter lack of appetite, a concerning weight loss, a 60 pound weight loss in the past year) — such that I have to force myself to eat in order to remain healthy, headaches, hives, gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD), ever worsening atopic dermatitis, and more. 

Let me leave you with two thoughts, one quite bracing, the first one from my daughter Megan, the person who loves me most in this world.

“Any discussion of your health is nothing more than a morbid plea for undeserved sympathy.“

From my friend, Vancouver School Board trustee, Christopher Richardson …

“Raymond, you and I suffer from the same malady. On the surface, both of us look healthy, when that is far from the case. From my COPD — which often makes it hard for me to breathe, or catch my breath, and the lack of energy attendant to my health disorder — and your prostate cancer and heart conditions, the two of us couldn’t look more healthy, when both of us know that is not our reality.

Both of us are high energy men, we’re driven, in our daily lives we set about to accomplish much, to contribute. But we do that because that’s who we are, despite our various debilitating health issues that make our work in the community ever more difficult. Still, how spiritually satisfying it is for the both of us that we can, and feel we must continue in our work to make a difference for the better.”

This year I am seventy-five years of age. At one time that was considered old. But not any more. Dr. Brad Fritz tells me I’ve got another 15 good years in me, that I will make it through my current troubling health circumstances to live a long and productive life, I should not worry, that I am in good hands, receiving the best of care, whether it’s with him, Dr. Miles Mannas or Dr. Sandy Ko. Vivas tempore et bene sit.