When I think of significant people in my life, there is one that stands out in my post-cancer journey. Judy Joy was my advocate, my steadiness and my perspective helper when I needed it most.
But before I could meet Judy I had to graduate from college and get myself out of Richmond, VA and down to Atlanta, GA.
I hadn’t gone to my high school graduation, and because I felt like I missed out on an important experience, I was determined to go to my college graduation. My memory of that day is a blur, but I know that my older sister, my parents, my husband and children were all there. I don’t actually remember, I just know because I have photos to prove it.
On the day, we, the college graduates, all donned cap and gown and lined up to enter the stadium. My family people were somewhere out there in the crowded stands. It was unnatural, this massive gathering of unfocused energy on the matriculating floor, teeming with robes and mortar boards. Most of the graduates were 20 something and just coming into the realities of adulthood, at the same time, clinging to childhood. One sported a stuffed Ernie from Sesame Street atop their mortar board so they could be spotted (clever), another, a pink feather boa for pizzazz (ostentatious). I graduated amidst the art department, with a crowd of theater people after all and my role was always behind the scenes, so I was fairly plain (anonymous.) The occasion turned out to be both solemn and flashy, and my surroundings swept me along with the milling graduates like a school of giddy salmon jumping up a fish ladder.
In reality some of my fellow students were bound to take even longer to reach adulthood, but college graduation was a step in a direction. I was somewhere on that maturity spectrum myself, parts of me growing up fast, and other parts in latency.
A week or so later, after packing up my belongings once more and moving my daughter and myself from Richmond to Atlanta, we were reunited with the boys and I settled down to put that degree to good use.
I interviewed with as many local theaters as I could once I moved to Atlanta. It was a giddy time professionally, and while home life seemed to be on probation, theater life slipped into 4th gear.
I picked up a few projects as a freelance designer, and landed a job as the season costume designer with the Theatrical Outfit. Located in an old Woolworth building , the stage area was on the main floor, basically an empty hall that could be built into anything from black box to proscenium to theater in the round.
The artistic director was also a composer, so naturally (naturally!) all the shows were musicals. If they weren’t already musicals, they were by the time we were done with them. Those were very fun projects and we let our imaginations run wild — within our budget.
The quirk that Theatrical Outfit embodied suited me entirely. I met wonderful people there, actors, directors and staff. The theater world is a small one in any city, and that was true in Atlanta as well. I brought some new energy to the scene that people appreciated and I took the opportunities to work with Atlanta opera, Theater Gael, childrens theater projects, Georgia Shakespeare, the Alliance theater and a local high school that was known for doing it up right.
But the best connections were more personal. While working on Theatrical Outfit projects, Robert, our scene builder, and Judy Joy, comptroller, and I would head out for lunch and talk. Robert and I became close and he would watch my kids from time to time. Later, after I was single, he’d come over and keep me company and we would watch ER together, shoulder to shoulder on the couch.
A few of our quirky TO projects, just to illustrate:
The Playboy of the Western World — lots of Celtic inspired songs, dances in swingy costumes made from coarse peasant-ish fabrics.
The Merchant of Venus. Not a typo. The costume for the prince of Andromeda was a cross between an eggplant and an octopus because if you are Portia and you are Venutian, the visiting dignitaries who want to court you are from other planets. Naturally. The alien got a standing ovation on opening night. That’s not supposed to happen, but it was cool to me!
Beowulf the Musical had a 10 foot tall Grendl that burst through the door of the gathering hall and eery haunting music. It was a wonderful combination of dance, storytelling and song.
No Exit in the round…actually it was a triangle with audience on all 3 sides, directed by a fellow from France who wanted the actors to strip naked by the end of the show. That didn’t quite happen, but our compromise was compelling and effective. Hell is other people, as the playwright says.
Judy Joy kept the budget in line, paid the bills, and when she saw the need, asked the powers that be for more money for costumes or sets. She was effective in her advocacy. Extra $ for Beowulf the musical. A ten foot monster cost more than initially planned. I made it worth the extra $$.
Judy’s advocacy extended into some very personal zones of my life as we got to know one another. Judy Joy had had breast cancer earlier in her life, like me. She had gone on to also have reconstructive surgery. I had not taken that step, but she encouraged me to consider having reconstructive surgery to correct the outcome of my earlier surgery.
At 32 years old I had a modified radical mastectomy and at the same time a plastic surgeon inserted a Becker expander to begin the reconstructive process. The expander was filled with saline over time, to stretch the tissues until there was as natural a breast shape as possible. It worked for maybe 5 years but by then it was out of shape and oddly pulling my back out of alignment.
Judy Joy had the trans flap method of reconstructive surgery to recover her normalcy as best she could. Her perspective was that this was far from vanity, like some plastic surgery might be considered to be. Again, not judging. People have to choose their own wants and needs. Judy convinced me that I didn’t have to live with my out of balance, differently shaped self, and could remedy how I felt about my still young body by making this decision, if it seemed like a good choice to me.
The pioneer of this plastic surgery method practiced at Emory University hospital in Atlanta. Very local. So I looked at the possibility and began to talk to my husband about it.
He was entirely opposed to it.
I don’t know all that was going through his head, but I’m sure he was afraid I’d die. We still had young kids, and he’d probably had enough of taking the burden of caring for me, the kids, the household after surgeries. Plus his career. We’d been through a lot of that already.
I almost let him convince me not to do it. After all, it seemed like elective surgery. My life was not at risk, but after thinking it through, my life was at risk. Understand?
Back to Judy. She valued me and saw me in a way my own husband did not. I didn’t need him to roll over and say “yes, dear whatever you want, do it!” But I did need him to hear me, listen to me, and take in the reason I was struggling with my body, my future, my comfort both physically and psychologically. He was not prepared for that, and while I know he loved me in his way, he wasn’t prepared to love me like that.
More importantly, I didn’t know if I could love myself like that or how I could make that decision without my husband’s support. It took many conversations with Judy, and at least one meditative walk in the woods with written questions and intentions I buried along the way. I came out of that walk holding one smooth stone, a touchstone, to remind me that only I can decide for myself, and I’d figure it out with or without his support.
Judy came with me to an informative meeting with the doctors team. There they showed the procedure in detail to a small group of women considering the surgery. A past patient disrobed in a private space to show her result if we wanted. So incredibly brave.
Judy Joy, the medical team, and yes, eventually my husband gave the support I needed, and I underwent the surgery.
This is where my personal timeline gets a bit fuzzy. It was not long after this that our family upheaval, a bout with serious depression, a career change and a couple more moves occurred.
I am so sad to say I lost track of Judy Joy. I lost track of so many pivotal people every time we moved. I suppose I have my own finite capacity for staying connected.
Much later I found Robert on Facebook and reconnected. He let me know that Judy Joy had passed away. I never got to thank her and tell her just how big an impact her presence meant to me in the later times, after the immediate aftermath.