“I think people sometimes imagine what it would be like to get a cancer diagnosis. I always imagined I would be really upset, and break down and cry. The most upsetting part was talking to my children. But with the actual diagnosis and the prospect of chemotherapy, I just felt determined to do what the doctors and my family advised. I sort of surrendered control of the situation to them.”

The dull ache in her stomach was colon cancer. Following surgery, she completed six months of chemotherapy. Because it was a Lynch syndrome cancer that increased her odds of developing ovarian or endometrial (uterus) cancers, a total hysterectomy was next. Unfortunately, her intestine was nicked during that surgery, which led to sepsis. A followup repair procedure, combined with antibiotics, finally resolved that life-threatening issue.

But her cancer journey wasn’t complete, as another slow-growing tumor was found in her abdomen. Doctors opted for a recently approved immunotherapy, which ultimately did the trick.

“It’s been three years since I stopped the immunotherapy. No one who has ever demonstrated a complete response like me has had a recurrence. It’s rare to hear about people with stage 4 who actually survive. So I’m still in a little bit of disbelief all the time. It hits me sometimes harder than others.

“For several years, I wasn’t worried about planning for retirement. I just didn’t think it was going to happen; you know, that I would get that far. It’s kind of like your life’s been given back to you.

“It’s hard to know how I would be different now, had all this not happened. What I really can speak to is the closeness of my family. My children are so close, and that wasn’t always the case. I think this whole experience really showed them the value of family and the power of family.

“The other thing is that you’re not as susceptible to getting upset over the small things in life: the day-to-day stresses and squabbles and disagreements. Things like that are now even more insignificant.”

— Laurie Adcox Haffelfinger

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The post Cancer experience draws family closer appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“In 2014, at the last red light before going over the Fred Hartman Bridge, an 18-wheeler got me. I mean, he T-boned me.

“They Life Flighted me to Hermann Hospital. I was in a coma for three days and in ICU for three weeks. Because of it, I have a 2 1/2-inch titanium plate screwed into my neck.

“Before that, I had cancer in my bottom lip. I never smoked a day in my life. It was carcinoma. They cut right down the center of my lip, all the way across, and took out the cancer. I needed 93 stitches.

“Then about five or six years ago, they removed my whole upper lip with another carcinoma. They took some skin from behind my ears to fill in, then just stretched the cheek and sewed me up. It’s so tight, I couldn’t get my partial in.

“I’ve also had a bunch of other skin cancers removed. And then, a few years ago, they found colon cancer. I had 13 inches of my colon removed. Last year, I had a brand new knee put in. I spent 19 weeks in therapy with that knee. I also had a new shoulder put in. There’s four different pieces in there. I had rotator cuff surgery, too.

“Some of that was pretty rough to deal with, but I never really did get discouraged. I’m 81, and I’m still active. I keep looking forward. I guess I’m just a walking miracle. The good lord has been taking such good care of me.”

— Larry Stratmann

Larry has served others all his adult life. He was in the Navy during the Vietnam War, then enjoyed long careers in police and security work. His favorite volunteer gig has been helping with the food pantry at Missouri Street Church of Christ in Baytown. He also was part of the volunteer fire department and volunteer ambulance service in Beach City, where he lives with his wife.

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“I had a lump pop up on my throat. Wasn’t sure what it was. Didn’t think it was cancer. Being a Christian, I really wasn’t that worried. My wife told me, ‘Let’s go to MD Anderson.’

“They checked it out and said it was squamous cell carcinoma. They found it on my left tonsil. So they removed it and then did radiation treatments. I also had some lymph nodes taken out.

“Atfterwards, I was able to start eating again, but I was having difficulty. About 10 years ago is when I really began having problems. I had trouble swallowing. I went through a treatment, trying to build up the muscles in my throat. I tried to start eating again, but ended up in the hospital for six weeks with pneumonia. My throat shut down. The flapper quit working.

“That’s when I had to get the feeding tube. I can’t eat or drink like other people. I get all my nutrition through this tube. I’m on a formula. I don’t like it, but I don’t have much choice. Every once in a while, I’ll shoot liquor into it. I’ll do a couple shots. Not enough to really make me feel anything. Just for the hell of it.

“When I get around people, and all they talk about is food, it kind of pisses me off. I can’t enjoy food like they do, and like I used to before all this. It’s definitely changed my whole life. I just deal with it the best I can. I tolerate it. That’s all I can do.”

— Rick Sanchez

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“When Maycie was in elementary school, things were great. It was so wonderful. The kids were nice. The teachers were great. And then junior high and high school just weren’t. Her school work wouldn’t be modified for her. The curriculum wasn’t accessible anymore. By ninth grade, she was being bullied.

“I remember when she was in track. They would go outside to practice, and she would need a friend to run as a sighted guide. The girls would argue in front of her about who was going to have to run with her. There were a couple times where she called me from the locker room because the other girls left her there by herself. So she couldn’t get out to the track. It took me a long time to get over that anger and that hurt.

“She started to flip into a really deep depression. It began in junior high. We just chalked it up to junior high being hard. It was for all my kids, not just for her. But by freshman year, she wouldn’t get out of bed. She was sad and angry all the time. She begged and begged and begged to please let her go to Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired in Austin. Ultimately, we decided that was the best place for her to learn and to grow. And it’s been great. She became happy again.

“So many school districts just aren’t equipped to handle totally blind children. Her main means of learning is Braille. In Austin, she was able to access her curriculum, and she was thriving. Sports was always a big deal for her. She played softball and ran track. But when she got to high school, it wasn’t easy. She never won a race because everybody was sighted, and she had to run with someone. When she went off to Texas School for the Blind, it was an even playing field. Whether you’re blind or visually impaired, everybody has to wear a blindfold. She started winning and excelling and advancing in sports. That does a lot for self-confidence.

“The biggest change I’ve seen in her is independence and happiness. Maycie’s 18 now, and she’s a wonderful advocate for herself. She’s done amazing. They say you’re not supposed to be prideful. But I have so much pride in my heart for her and how far she’s come in life.”

— Brandi Gonzalez

At Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired, Maycie is cheer captain, runs track, is on the swim team, plays goalball (chosen for the All-American team), is student body secretary, president of Leo Club, and a member of the National Honor Society. She plans to pursue a career as a child life specialist on a pediatric oncology unit.

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“It showed up a couple times in pictures of Maycie. Instead of red eye, she had white. Then we noticed it every once in a while when she was in the bathtub or in her high chair. We thought it was a reflection from the white of the tub or the white of her high chair tray. But then it got to where her eyes kind of seemed empty. It was really strange. So we took her to a pediatrician. She told us there was an absence of a red reflex, and that we needed to go to Texas Children’s Hospital the next day.

“Maycie was diagnosed with bilateral retinoblastoma, which is cancer of the retina in both eyes. She was 11 months old. I was devastated. The tumors in her right eye were not in the optic nerve yet, but they were too close. They didn’t want it to spread to her brain. So the best course of treatment was to remove the right eye and try to save the left eye.

“Believe it or not, it’s day surgery. Her right eye was removed on October 24, 2002, which was our fourth wedding anniversary. She came home, slept half the day, and then she was up and playing. At first, we were pretty optimistic about the other eye. For about a year and a half, we tried to save it. We did six months of chemotherapy. We did laser therapy. We did cryotherapy. She had 28 days of radiation. But in the end, we couldn’t save it.

“I worked at a daycare at the time. Maycie would sit up against the wall and isolate herself, not wanting to be around people. If anyone would get near her, her first instinct was to bite. So she had a little harder time after the second eye was removed. When they’re that age, though, they’re pretty resilient. She bounced back. She ended up getting prosthetic eyes.

“But it was hard not to keep thinking, if only we had known the signs. Those white dots in her eyes in all the pictures screamed cancer, letting us know that something was terribly wrong. We just didn’t know the signs of retinoblastoma, and we sure didn’t know she probably had it since birth.

“Some days, the guilt that consumes me is mentally and physically crippling. I know it’s not my fault. I know there’s no way I could have known. But that doesn’t help. What does help is knowing I have spread awareness of retinoblastoma, so that it might possibly help someone else.”

— Brandi Gonzalez

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“I never could have imagined living to be 97. I have no idea how it feels, really. I mean, I don’t know any different. I’m slower, yeah. I have a little trouble with short-term memory. But overall, my mind is still fairly good.

“I live by myself. I take care of the house. I do all the laundry and everything. I still go out back to my shop and piddle around a little bit. I guess I’m just blessed to have survived everything I’ve gone through in life. I survived the war. I survived a heart attack. I survived a broken hip. I survived cancer.

“I had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. That was kind of an unusual thing. I got sick. They did tests. My wife and I were waiting on the report when the doctor came back. He said, ‘Well, Mr. Sneed, I hate to tell you this, but you’ve got cancer. It’s in your lymph nodes. If you take the treatments, you probably will live six months. But if you don’t take the treatments, you probably won’t live very long.’

“That wasn’t very good news. My wife started crying and I started crying. We cried a little longer, then got over it. I thought, well, if I’m going to die, I need to get things in order that need to be done. I was thinking about that and talking to her about it. Then, suddenly, just out of the blue, I said, ‘We’re not going to change anything, honey. We’re going to go ahead just like it is, and trust in the lord.’ So we did. And I’m still here.

“Isn’t that amazing? My life has been amazing. I was married 67 years. Our kids — four boys and two girls — are all still alive. I have grandchildren, great-grandchildren and a great-great grandchild. Sometimes I wonder, why me? Why have I been such a fortunate man? But then I think, well, I don’t really mean that, lord. I’ve been through so much, and I’ve been close to death so many times. I’m just glad to be here and glad that I can still do the things that I do. It’s a joy to be alive.”

— Fred Sneed

(Note: Fred Sneed passed away on Aug. 29, 2021.)

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“I started having this pain in my breast. It was getting really bad. When I went to the doctor and she felt the lump, she said, ‘You need to get tests done right now.’ I learned that when the radiologist comes out to talk with you after the mammogram, it’s something bad.

“I was diagnosed with breast cancer in January 2012. The first time I went to MD Anderson for blood work, one of the ladies said, ‘You have the Cadillac of breast cancers.’ I had the HER2-positive. I had the ER/PR-negative. Everything that could make it worse, I had. They said if I had walked in there five years prior, I probably would have had zero percent chance to live.”

There was chemotherapy, a bilateral mastectomy, followed by more chemo. With support from family and friends, she made it through. Only to face another health scare, which at first she thought was severe acid reflux from the chemo.

“I was out Ubering on a Sunday, and one of the ladies I picked up said, ‘Mam, you don’t look good.’ I said, ‘I don’t feel good.’ By the time I drove to the hospital, my chest was really hurting. They took me to the back for an EKG. The doctor standing outside the room said, ‘You’re having a heart attack.’ There were nurses all around me, one trying to put in IVs. I was all alone. I was crying, and was like, ‘Please don’t let me die.’ One of the nurses asked, ‘Do you want me to call a priest?’ My dad had died of a massive heart attack at 34. He was so young. That kept going through my head. It ended up that I had 100% blockage, so they put in stents.

“Having gone through all of this, and so many other challenges in life, I feel so fortunate to be here today doing what I love to do most: cook. This is where I’m meant to be.”

— Sarah Wright

Sarah and her husband, Tyrrell, run Sarah’s Restaurant, 3321 Market in Baytown.

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“I’ve been part of Relay for Life as a volunteer and supporter for eight years. My pastor who was like a father died of cancer. Co-workers who were like family died of cancer. It was all around me. We have a long history of diabetes, kidney failure and heart disease in my own family, but I’d never heard of cancer affecting any relatives.

“After having female problems for a long time, I finally had to go to the doctor. They did an intrauterine biopsy, and it took several weeks to get the results. Finally, the doctor called and said, ‘Glenda, you have stage one uterine cancer.’ And I just broke down crying. It was a real blow. I already have heart problems, diabetes and a number of other things. None of those surprised me because my parents had it and their parents had it. But cancer? I wasn’t expecting that.

“They said if I had an operation, I’d be high risk. So they want to try radiation or chemo. Right now, my finances are suffering because of different things. I’ve had to push back some doctor’s dates. When you’re low income, it can be pretty challenging. When you have to pay for parking at the hospital, you can’t always afford that. But I’m going to get treatment. I know this can spread.

“Being involved with Relay for Life and seeing how cancer affects people, and suddenly you’re one of them, it’s a shock. I know I have people who support me. And I know I’m going to get through this. But I still get depressed, frustrated and angry at times. It can get pretty overwhelming. This year when I walk my first lap as a survivor, I just hope I don’t go to pieces.”

— Glenda George (Anahuac)

(Note: Glenda George passed away on April 7, 2020.)

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“I got the card in the mail that said it was time for my checkup. I ignored it. I got another card. I ignored it, too. Then I had to go in for something else and I was like, you know what, I may as well get my mammogram since they’ve been bugging me about it.

“Afterward, they said there’s something they wanted to look at again. So I thought, OK, no big deal. Even when I got my biopsy I thought, this happens to a lot of people, it’s probably nothing.

“Well, they caught it very early, so I didn’t have to have chemo or radiation. I had a mastectomy. Immediately I said, just take it. I want to get rid of it. So I didn’t have to have any follow-up treatments. I was extremely lucky.

“The first few years when people would make a big deal about it, I didn’t understand why. I never thought that I wasn’t going to still be around, so I tried to downplay it. When the fifth year came, they really made a big deal about it. They said five years is a milestone. I guess that’s when I started feeling a little like a survivor.

“Because I didn’t go through chemo or radiation, and I didn’t have any major pain, it was like a little blip on the radar. It’s not that I feel like a fraud. But when I see other people who struggle with their cancer experience I think, those are the real survivors. They should be celebrated. Me, I don’t feel like I’m in that category because I didn’t suffer like they did.”

— Tammy Adams

The post She beat cancer, but didn’t feel like a survivor appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“My mother died from breast cancer when she was 53 and I was diagnosed when I was 50. I pretty much thought I knew everything about going through it because I was in high school when she was diagnosed and I was 25 when she died.

“Then my dad died from lung cancer when he was 69. So I watched both of them. I thought I kind of knew what it was all about.

“But when the doctor looks you in the eye and says, ‘You have cancer,’ it changes everything. I ended up having a lumpectomy, chemotherapy and radiation, and I was off work for a year.

“In a weird sort of way, my mom dying when I was young was a blessing for me because before then I was pretty much invincible. I had never really lost anybody close to me and I thought, life just goes on forever. But it was kind of a wake-up call that, hey, you need to cherish every day because it can change in a heartbeat.

“I’ve always looked at life as a gift, and I try to embrace and find something good out of every day. After I had cancer, it was really kind of an exclamation point on how I had already been living my life. It’s just made it even sweeter.”

— Robyne Gold

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