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1. In February 1997 I decided to get a closet organizer installed, to bring some order to my chaotic wardrobe. I planned to pack up the clothes that no longer fit, and donate them to Goodwill. I was sure I’d never lose enough weight to fit into the size 4 suits I once wore.

2. The Closet Factory installers came on March 22, 2 days after I was diagnosed with cancer. As I sorted the clothes I decided to hang onto the size 4 outfits. From what I knew of cancer treatment, I expected nausea and vomiting, and figured I’d drop at least 15 lbs. I realized I had put a positive spin on the disease: Cancer, the ultimate weight loss experience. Later I found out that 50-70% of breast cancer patients gain weight during treatment. So much for the size 4's.

3. The day I found out the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes, I read in The Boston Globe that the giant panda in the Washington Zoo underwent surgery a day earlier, and had his lymph nodes removed. The idea that I had something in common with the panda made me laugh on what otherwise was a very grim news day. I was also relieved that the late night talk shows weren’t joking about me like they were about Hsing-Hsing, who had a testicle removed.

4. Dean Jack Galvin introduced me at Fletcher's Commencement ceremony by saying "I know Margaret Thatcher, Margaret Thatcher is a friend of mine, and Maria Judge is tougher than Margaret Thatcher," thereby inspiring 1/3 of the title of this exhibit

6. For surgery I wanted to take my rosary beads (from the shrine of Our Lady of Knock, in County Mayo, Ireland, where miraculous healings have occurred) into the operating room, but was afraid if I held them the'd get in the doctor s way. I began to obsess about this, as if there were a high incidence of rosary beads being stitched up inside people during surgery. Finally I stuck them inside my sock, where I figured they’d be out of the way. A few weeks later I had more surgery, and since the rosary beads had worked so well, I took them again, along with two small crosses. This time there were new socks, green and smaller. Patients complain the socks fall off their feet,” one of the nurses told me, and I had visions of my religious paraphernalia spilling out all over the operating room, but I didn’t dare leave them behind. Luckily the socks stayed on, and everything stayed in.

5. Of the hundreds of Fletcher students who attended Commencement, I posed for pictures with only two of them, both bald men. I don’t think I chose them on purpose, but perhaps subconsciously I was thinking ahead a few weeks to the day when I expected to look like them.