Judy’s story is shared by many facing ovarian cancer

By Brian Knox

I had just finished typing the words to “We’re Having a Party,” a song Judy McCandless had written just days earlier about her “going home party,” when we received the call of her death that Wednesday afternoon.

Although I never got to hear her sing it, I like to think that she was singing along, maybe from heaven, as I was typing it on my computer.

She loved to sing.

When we first approached Judy about letting us chronicle her battle with ovarian cancer, I was pleased at how willing she was to share her story. When I asked her if we could visit often for a series of stories, she agreed without hesitation. I often wondered in those early days if she would still welcome us so graciously when things got rough.

It turns out I didn’t need to worry. Her door was always open.

I can’t imagine anyone else giving us the type of access she did. Many people become reclusive when they are dying. They don’t want people to see them.

But Judy was different.

She wanted people to see what she was going through. She wanted people to know what ovarian cancer can do to a person, and what it could not do (an idea beautifully captured in a cross-stitch hanging on her living room wall.)

Judy wanted us to see the beautiful things in life that can sometimes only be seen by someone who is dying. In the process, she showed us how a person can face death gracefully and bravely.

Increasing ovarian cancer awareness was always the main reason Judy agreed to share her story. She wanted women to know the symptoms and the need for early detection.

She wanted women to trust their bodies when they believe something is wrong and even get a second opinion when a doctor says not to worry.

Judy was not alone in her battle.

According to information provided by the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition, ovarian cancer ranks fourth in the number of cancer deaths in women. It is estimated that 22,220 new cases will be reported this year in the United States alone, and 16,210 women will die.

Sometimes all it takes is the story of just one person’s battle for those numbers to become real for the rest of us. That was Judy’s hope.

The NOCC reports that almost 70 percent of women with ovarian cancer are not diagnosed until the disease is advanced in stage – in other words, the cancer has spread to the upper abdomen (stage III) or beyond (stage IV). The 5-year survival rate for women who have an advanced stage of ovarian cancer is only 15 to 20 percent. If the disease is caught early, the 5-year survival rate is close to 90 percent.

Because the early signs of ovarian cancer are often not realized by women, the cancer is often called the “disease that whispers.” It is the reason Kathy and Judy named their farm near Decatur “Whispering Hills.”

Researchers still don’t know what causes ovarian cancer, but they have identified risk factors which could slightly increase a woman’s chances of getting the disease. Some common risk factors include age (diagnosis most often happens after menopause), obesity, women who started having periods before age 12 or went through menopause after age 50, women who have not had children or had their first child after they were 30, a family history of the disease and women who have had breast cancer.

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On a personal note, there is no way to adequately thank Judy’s family and friends for the trust they gave me and photographer Joe Duty. The death of a loved one is a deeply personal time. Emotions flow freely, and we don’t always like others – much less more than 10,000 newspaper readers – to see that.

I especially want to thank Judy’s family who was there with her in her last days. We only met Judy’s son, Bryan, a few days before his mother’s death. He understood completely the story we were trying to tell. Even though he didn’t show it, I know it must have been hard for him. That goes for Judy’s sister, Janice, and all of the other family who I met during my visits to Judy’s home and other family members who I did not meet.

Without the cooperation of Judy’s life partner, Kathy Falcon, Judy’s story could not have been told. To be able to sit by the side of your loved one moments after her death, clutching her hand and crying, all the while having a reporter sitting only a few feet away and a photographer snapping photos – all I can say is I think there are few people in this county who would have been so gracious.

Kathy, you’ve trusted us since the beginning, and we hope Judy’s story has touched more lives than we will ever know.

I know it has touched mine.

Challenging journey led to friendship

By Joe Duty

Sometimes we’re compelled to do things, and we don’t try to understand why at the time. Such was the case with the story of Judy McCandless’ battle with cancer.

Initially when I heard about the story I was intrigued about helping Judy get her story out, but due to the nature of it I wasn’t certain if I could do it objectively.

Hundreds of images and 11 months later, I had made a good friend and finished one of the greatest and most challenging journeys of my career and of my life.

I watched Judy as her passion for life overwhelmed me. I tried to put it on film, but as with all mediums, something was lost in translation. I don’t think any images or words can truly express what Judy had to go through and the character of strength she displayed while letting me document her most vulnerable moments.

As I shot my last photos of Judy at the funeral, I realized that as Judy’s story was ending, somebody else’s similar journey was beginning. Maybe because of Judy’s story, somebody will catch the disease in earlier stages and Judy will smile.

As Judy talked less every day, in one of our last conversations at her bedside, she thanked me for being her friend and squeezed my hand with a look of sincerity and composure I will not forget.

Thanks for being my friend, Judy.