A retired special forces colonel. A stage 3C colon cancer diagnosis. And how the same discipline that made him a warrior almost took him down
There’s a question that comes up early in most cancer conversations. “Were you having symptoms?”
For Dr. Lawrence Henry, the answer was yes. He had them all. Bloating. Blood in his stool. Pain.
But he also had something else. Twenty-six years of military discipline. A mission-first mindset that had gotten him through jump training, special operations, multiple deployments to Central America, South America, Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan.
So he rationalized it. The symptoms were just the fallout from those exotic places. Indigestion from unfamiliar food. Nothing to worry about.
“I rationalized it,” he tells me. “That’s what we do.”
The Colonoscopy He Didn’t Want
In 2019, before retirement, Lawrence had a colonoscopy. They found some polyps. Removed them. Life went on.
He retired in February 2020.
His cancer diagnosis came in 2021.
You know the screening guidelines. Colonoscopies every five years, maybe every three, sometimes every ten. So nothing could really be wrong. He’d just been through a thorough medical physical. The whole out-processing for military retirement. Nothing was coming.
But something kept pushing him. And one day, despite all his resistance (the preparation was the real reason he didn’t want to do it), he finally scheduled a colonoscopy at the Tampa VA.
The day the doctor came back, he didn’t even know what a malignant tumor meant.
He was just worried about the graham crackers and ginger ale. He was starving.
Then it started sinking in. The tumor was trying to break through the organ. It was about to become something much worse.
When a Green Beret Has to Let Go
That’s when everything shifted.
“I’m going to beat it,” he initially said. That’s what Green Berets do. You have an obstacle, you take it down. You don’t sit with it. You eliminate it.
But cancer doesn’t work like a military mission.
And Lawrence had to do something that went against every instinct in his bones. He let go of the mission.
“I gave the mission up to a group of people I did not even know,” he says. “I’ve vetted all kinds of missions over 26 years. I made sure I had the right people, the right equipment, the right funding. But for this mission, the mission of a lifetime, I just gave it up and didn’t ask any questions.”
It was terrifying. It was also necessary.
The Tampa VA team did a wonderful job with his treatment. Surgery first, a robotic laparoscopic procedure to remove the affected portion of his colon and lymph nodes. Then 12 rounds of chemotherapy.
Every other week he’d come in on Tuesday for intravenous treatment. Then they’d send him home with what he calls the boat anchor. That’s the chemo pump he had to carry until the traveling nurse came on Thursday to pick it up. This was during COVID, so everything was careful, cautious, isolated.
The side effects were predictable. Peripheral neuropathy in his hands and feet. Exhaustion.
But around week six, something changed.
The Moment He Advocated for Himself
He noticed he was labored walking up the stairs. His heart was beating hard just from simple tasks. He was sweating a lot.
“No, you’re doing fine,” his oncology team said. “Just keep going.”
He pushed back. “No, I insist. I need a CT scan now.”
When he insisted, the Colonel came back. And when they did the scan, they found blood clots in his legs and his lungs.
The oxyplatin was causing the reaction. They pulled him off it immediately. He’d run his course with Tampa VA.
Moffitt Cancer Center, right across the street, took him in. They laid out his options. Do nothing. Get back on oxyplatin. Try something else. Something different. They informed him. They let him decide.
He finished his chemotherapy at Moffitt.
That moment when he pushed back, when he demanded his own voice be heard, that’s when he realized something crucial. He couldn’t even advocate for himself. And if he couldn’t do it, what about everyone else?
From Colonel to Credible Messenger
After beating cancer, Lawrence could have done what plenty of people do. He could have retired quietly. Lived his life. He’d had a military career. He’d beaten cancer. That’s enough.
But there was something in him that wouldn’t let him sit still.
“The way I couldn’t advocate for myself... how about Larry Henry from East Orange, New Jersey? How about Larry Henry from Long Branch, New Jersey in underserved communities? Who’s helping them?”
He turned himself into what he calls a credible messenger. Not just someone with a story to tell. Someone with lived experience, yes. But also resources. Predictability. Show up on time. Follow through. Be someone people can trust.
“I’m going to tell you my story. Now walk with me. Trust me to demystify the medical system. I’m going to bring you a culturally sound, patient-centric group of people who will come to you and ask you questions. Draw it out of you. Not give you stuff. But draw it out of you.”
Three Pillars
Through his nonprofit, Abridge2Light, Lawrence focuses on three things.
Protection of womanhood. She’s the first mother, the first teacher, the first friend. And he’s seen too much normalizing of violence against women on social media. That has to change.
Intentional mentorship. He works inside Dallas County Juvenile Detention facilities with young men and women, facilitating behavioral transformation. They can stay with the program after release too, along with their parents.
Chronic disease awareness. De-stigmatizing cancer and other chronic diseases. Speaking about them as commonly as a common cold. Because silence is killing people.
The Double-Edged Sword
Here’s what Lawrence keeps coming back to, and it’s important. Discipline saved his life in the military. It got him to Colonel rank in special operations. It gave him the trust and confidence of his peers, his superiors, his subordinates.
The same discipline nearly killed him.
When someone asked if he was all right, the answer was always: “I’m all right. I’m okay. I’m focused on the mission.”
In 2004, he chipped his coccyx bone, his tailbone, on a military free fall jump. High altitude, low opening. HALO jump from about 10,000 feet.
He didn’t get it looked at until 2017.
Thirteen years. Because raising your hand is a sign of weakness.
“Our discipline is a double-edged sword,” he says. “It’s what enables us to ascend, rank after rank, position after position. But that same discipline has almost put me in the grave.”
And it’s not just military men. It’s men in underserved communities who lack access to insurance or education about health screening. It’s anyone who’s been taught that your body’s needs come second to the mission.
What Gets Through
Lawrence talks about being a feeler. He loves hard. Music does something to him. It can take him back to different periods of his life, different episodes, different versions of himself.
He’s a closet DJ. A music connoisseur.
His favorite musician is Prince (purple, like he said). His favorite performer is Michael Jackson. And Human Nature holds a specific place in his heart. He was listening to it as they wheeled him into the operating room for his second surgery at MD Anderson.
The song composition. The voice. The journey it takes you on.
When he talks about his dream, he talks about wanting to visit Bali and Thailand. Places that represent peace, tranquility, happiness, respect. Places that feel different.
And his call to action comes with humor and honesty. “When you hear Human Nature, make a phone call to one of your friends. Ask them when their last colonoscopy was.”
If Everything Were Off the Table
If money, time, and institutional gatekeeping were all off the table, what would Lawrence build?
A facility. One place that provides access, education, and protection for women. That provides patience, mentorship, and understanding for young people. That de-stigmatizes cancer and chronic diseases. That reduces violence and increases quality of life for all of us.
“Our silence is killing us,” he says.
It’s killing service members. It’s putting people in bad places. It’s keeping men from raising their hands when they need help.
Connect With Dr. Lawrence Henry and Abridge2Light
If you want to learn more about the work Lawrence is doing:
Organization: Abridge2Light
Website: www.abridge2light.org
Contact: Email through the website to connect directly
Lawrence’s call to action is direct. Send an email. Give them a call. Let Abridge2Light help you navigate uncertain periods. You have thoughts. You have ideas. They’ll help you know which way to turn.
Final Thoughts
Discipline is a gift. It’s what gets you to the top of your field. It’s what keeps you focused. It’s what makes you reliable.
It’s also what can kill you.
For Lawrence Henry, the breakthrough came when he stopped trusting only his discipline and started trusting a team he didn’t vet. When he stopped trying to control the mission and let other people take it over.
And then, when he insisted his voice be heard anyway.
That balance is what he’s trying to teach now. Letting others lead while still advocating for yourself.
Because somewhere in East Orange, New Jersey, or Long Branch, or Dallas County, there’s someone with symptoms they’re rationalizing away. Someone with a mission they’ve chosen over their health.
Lawrence Henry’s story says: Raise your hand. Make the phone call. Insist on your own CT scan.
You don’t have to beat this alone. You just have to be willing to let people in.
And yeah, maybe listen to Human Nature while you’re thinking about scheduling that colonoscopy.
If you’re a veteran or service member dealing with health issues but struggling to reach out, remember that asking for help isn’t weakness. It’s the smartest mission decision you can make. Connect with Abridge2Light or reach out to your VA facility. Your silence isn’t protecting anyone. It’s just keeping you from living the life you deserve.
