“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

Related:

• They’re in love with RV lifestyle

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

“I was born in St. Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands. At school, I was in the same class with this girl in first grade, third grade and fifth grade. You could say she was my little girlfriend. I would see her in church and think, some day I’m going to marry her. You know how it is at that age.

“We were supposed to be in sixth grade together, but they put us in different classes. That’s kind of the last time we saw each other. She moved away to New York.

“When I was in 11th grade, I moved to New York with my mom. I didn’t really like it. I moved back for 12th grade, and I was living with a friend. Since I already had enough credits, I didn’t have to go to class. So I got my diploma and started working.

“One day, this fellow invited me to church. There was this beautiful girl, and I wanted to marry her. But it wasn’t to be.

“I continued praying for a wife. And guess who walked into the church? It was the girl from elementary school, now a lady. I knew it was Michelle. As soon as I saw her I told myself, I guess this is the one.

“It must have been because she was about to get married to someone else. When she went to get her marriage certificate, they said she couldn’t marry the guy because he was already married. She didn’t know. So the two of us started dating. Before you know it, about six months after we reconnected, we were married.

“It was like we were never apart. It was awesome. She was a very sweet person. Everything I wasn’t, she was. We had five kids together.

“When she got breast cancer, they wanted to give her chemo. But her veins were so small, it was kind of tough for her. In the hospital the day before she passed, she told them to take it out and let her go. So they did, and she passed on. I cried for two years.

“The funny thing is, a year or so earlier she told me, ‘When I pass, I want you to marry again.’ And I told her, ‘When I pass, I want you to marry again.’ I don’t know why she said that, unless she knew what was coming.

“I haven’t remarried. I’m thinking about it. But it’s hard because you might try to compare, and that wouldn’t be fair.

“We were together 41 years. For me, it was a dream come true.”

— Randall Bascombe

The post Finding his wife ‘was a dream come true’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“My dad passed away in June. He was at home. It was just a few days after Father’s Day. He had been dealing with cancer for eight years. This time, it was the final K.O.

“It was also roughly a month before he was able to retire officially. In a sense, at least to me, that was adding insult to injury.

“It’s been hard, for my sisters and my mom especially. She told me that she’s cried herself to sleep. That’s how much it hurts. They were married 41 years.

“I’ve been looking for a job. The last place I worked was 7-Eleven. That guy let me go due to my being too slow. One day he just said, ‘OK, you’re off the schedule,’ and that was it. He didn’t bother to discuss things with me like, ‘Any way I can help you out with this?’ I’m still agitated about that.

“I’ve applied for other jobs since then. I’m just trying to stay positive and keep my spirits up by saying, ‘Everything will be OK. Just keep on trucking. You’re not the only one going through this.’ It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve just got to keep trying.”

— Kevin Alford, 38, who’s living life with autism

Related:

• Autism isn’t keeping him from enjoying life

The post Trying to keep spirits up after losing father, job 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.

Related:

• Navy veteran reflects on Vietnam War service

• Fishing trip turns into burglary stop

The post Navy veteran calls himself ‘walking miracle’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“I’m 83. Been married four times. Divorced twice. The other two passed with cancer.

“I lost my wife, Jewell, on Jan. 19 last year. She was 69. She dealt with that cancer for many years. It spread all over. But if you had seen her walking around, you never would have thought she had cancer. She was always happy.

“Then one day, me, her and the daughter went to the funeral home. I said, ‘Why are we going there?’ My wife said, ‘Hush, you’ll find out later on.’ She didn’t want me to know that she had only six months to live. She didn’t want me to worry. And I tried my best. But sometimes at night when that cancer moved, man, she’d go to hollering. I didn’t know what to do for her. There was nothing I could do but sit there and look at her.

“But she never did complain. That was just the kind of person she was. She was jolly, happy, all the time.

“When we were at church for the funeral service, that’s when I broke down. I couldn’t take it no more. But that’s all right. It’s best to cry. Best to get it all out. Because if you keep it in, it gets worse and worse.

“At the cemetery, oh man, my chest locked up on me. I thought it was my heart. But it was all that stress. I didn’t know it could be so strong. They had to rush me to the hospital. I wasn’t there to see them put her in the ground. I haven’t been back to the cemetery. It’s too hard. I try not to think about the bad stuff, all I’ve been through. I try to keep my mind off things like that.

“Before she passed, my wife told me, ‘You don’t have to worry about me. Because I know where I’m going.’ And that’s a good blessing. Yes, indeed.”

— C.J. Edmond

C.J. is a deacon at Mt. Calvary Baptist Church in Baytown, where Jewell also was a long-time member. “I used to have dogs when I was young. I had one that I called Bozo. My mother would say, ‘Both you Bozos, get out of that bed.’ Then my sister started calling me Bozo the Clown. It stuck. Everybody at church calls me Bozo. Even my pastor.”

The post Cancer takes wife, who ‘never did complain’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“I remember everything. I was 7 years old when she started being nauseous and feeling weak. I would walk her to the restroom and back to the living room. At first, she thought she was pregnant. But it was cancer. And it spread. It attacked her organs.

“It was pretty hard on me. I was really, really close to her. I would even sleep with her in the hospital. One time she told me, ‘Baby, I’m going to be gone. You’d better get ready.’ She was preparing me for the worst. In less than a year, it was over. She was 38 when she passed away.

“I still get sad when I think about it. But I have lots of good memories of her, too. I remember her walking with me to school every morning. And in the summer, we used to look at the stars every single night. My middle name is Lucero. In Spanish, it means bright star. So she would point to the sky and say, ‘That’s you, baby. That’s you right up there.’ To this day, I like to sit outside and look at the stars every night. And I talk to my mom. I tell her, ‘I need your strength.’

“Her name was Martha. She loved life. She loved helping people. We didn’t have much. But if she saw somebody who had less and needed it more than we did, she’d take food to their house. And she took me with her. I still remember when I was like 3 years old, she would give me the bag of food and say, ‘Here, you give it to them.’ She was showing me what it means to be a caring person. And it stuck. Because I love the feeling of helping people without expecting anything in return. Just like my mom.”

— Brenda Avila

Related:

• Young mother proud of sons and herself

The post She continues her mother’s life lessons appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“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

The post Cancer survivor tolerates life with feeding tube appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“Tim and I went with my brother to tour NASA. You get on the little tram, and it lets you off to look at stuff in the different buildings. Then you catch the next tram to continue the tour. But when the next tram came, there were no seats. So we waited for the one after that, and there were only two seats available. Tim said, ‘Y’all get on, and I’ll catch the next one.’

“When we pulled up to the main building, they announced, ‘Please stay seated, and keep your hands and feet inside the tram until we come to a complete stop.’ And all of a sudden I hear, ‘Stacey, will you marry me?’

“Without my knowing it, Tim had talked to the guy doing the speaking and asked if he could borrow the microphone. The guy asked why, and Tim said, ‘Because I want to propose to my girlfriend.’

“When I heard him proposing to me in front of all those people, I screamed and ran toward him in the back of the tram. He was in the very last seat. Everybody cheered and laughed. It was awesome.

“After the tour, we drove up to Dallas to see my mom. Tim wanted to give me my ring in front of her. And he asked my dad for my hand in marriage. You don’t know how special that was.

“My mom was diagnosed with brain cancer in July 1993, and she died three months later. Like any couple, we’ve had our share of bumps in the road. But we’ve been married for 27 years now. We’re best friends. I don’t know where I’d be without him.”

— Stacey Lundberg Stiff

Related:

• Husband ‘my rock’ through surgery, stroke

The post Surprise proposal leads to long marriage appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“We were living in the dream home we had built for our family, when there was this rare flood. We had like 4 feet of water in our house. We were not in the 100-year flood plain, and we did not have flood insurance. So we had to pay out of our pocket to fix it all back up. We lived upstairs while they remodeled the bottom floor.

“Then, approximately four months later, our house burned to the ground. It was an electrical fire. They said it was a faulty furnace. We were very fortunate that nobody was home at the time.

“Still, it was devastating. You can’t imagine what it’s like losing everything. You suddenly realize that you don’t even have the basics. You can’t brush your teeth or comb your hair, or even have a clean pair of underwear. But we did have community. We had our church. Family, friends and others we didn’t know came together to help us.

“And as hard as the flood and fire were, the most difficult thing for me was later losing my husband, Bubba Massengale, when he was 45. He had AML, a real aggressive type of leukemia. We had been high school sweethearts. I was married to him for 28 years. He was such a good man, and he kept a real positive attitude. When other people would get down, he was the one to lift them up. It was rough, watching him go through all of that.

“But God has really blessed me, because I’ve been married to Mike Meredith now for 16 years. He worked with my husband for 20-something years, and they were good friends and hunting buddies. Mike lost his wife when she was 45 also. She had a rare lung disease called Alpha-1. She went through a lung transplant, but it wasn’t successful. Mike and I had always just been friends. Neither one of us would have dreamed that we’d be brought together like we were.

“I think what we’ve both gone through has made us stronger. If someone had told me that I would go through all of that with Bubba, I’d have just thrown in the towel and said, ‘I give up. I just can’t.’ But I believe it’s a God thing. The good lord has brought me through everything, I’m telling you that.”

— Brenda Meredith

Related:

• ‘When we see someone hurting, we want to help’

The post Surviving devastation, they come together appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“‘We have to let our hearts break.’ I heard Mariann Edgar Budde, Episcopal bishop of Washington, D.C., say this recently. And whoa, I felt that. For me, 2020 started in a state of grief. Just a few months prior, I lost my sweet love, Daniel, to cancer. Then chaos ensued with the virus. Thankfully, my job switched to teleworking, and I went into quarantine to protect myself because I’m immunocompromised due to my weird autoimmune illness. I put my grief on the back burner, trying to adjust to the new normal. But it came creeping back in June when Daniel’s birthday rolled around. It hit hard on the anniversary of his death in late September. I knew I had to face it.

“I started seeing my friends dealing with the virus, getting sick, losing loved ones, losing jobs, and people stressed having to educate their children. As if the pandemic wasn’t enough, we’ve had heavy political and civic unrest, and every relationship has been tested. I realized all of us were dealing with grief and loss. I know when grief hits, I want answers. That big three-letter word, ‘Why?’ But I’m learning that first I need to feel it before I can put meaning to it. These past months, I’ve come to embrace the idea of impermanence. Nothing lasts forever, good or bad. When I think about it that way, it releases me from the need to control everything and have all the answers.

“In the meantime, what to do in survival mode? I’m leaning into my creative side. I’ve written some songs and taken up painting. Did I mention I was a control freak? Learning to paint is teaching me to deal with my perfectionism because I don’t have to ‘stay inside the lines.’ Also, more recently, my sister and I decided to learn sign language. It’s such a fascinating language that depends on human connection with body language and eye contact. And human connection is something we’re all craving right now.

“The word that I keep coming back to is ‘resilience.’ The human spirit and ability to not only survive but thrive in moments like these is so remarkable. I’m constantly inspired by the ingenuity and creativity of others around me. The only thing I’m sure of right now is that we weren’t meant to face hardships alone. We have to keep holding on to one another.

“I’ve also learned that grief is a blessing when I allow myself to sit with it. It shows me what’s important in life and what to let go of. It was an honor to be in Daniel’s light for a while. ‘Live life forward.’ That was his motto. And memories of his love and grace are definitely helping carry me forward.”

— Cynthia Dawn Clevenger

(Note: Cynthia Dawn Clevenger passed away on Jan. 26, 2022.)

The post ‘Grief is a blessing when I allow myself to sit with it’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.