The Longest Game

by Shaun Hallman

Life can change in the blink of an eye. 
For some, it changes for the better. 
For others, it changes for the worse.

At 17, I’ve seen both.

At the end of my sophomore year of high school, I was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma, better known as bone cancer. It sent me home from school for months and sidelined me in some sports for good.  

Growing up, I was always somewhere playing sports. 
Football fields, basketball courts, baseball fields, and even golf courses.
I played it all, my dad coached a lot of it, and my mom cheered wherever we went.

When I was diagnosed and the doctors said I was done with sports, I felt empty.
Everything I ever knew felt stripped away.

I was a shell of myself, unsure where life was going to take me.
Sports weren’t just what I did. I had become the sports I played.

After my first treatment, the physical impact caught up with the mental and emotional impact. My body was empty, tired, and changing rapidly. I gained weight, but grew weaker. I didn’t feel a lot of pain during the treatments, but I almost felt like nothing. It was a weird feeling of knowing I was battling something huge while feeling numb and small.

I knew that people were watching me fight. I knew that students, young and old, teammates, parents, family and community friends were looking to me to fight. So, that’s what I did. 

I woke up everyday and decided to keep going. 
To keep pressing forward and working through my weakness. 
To keep looking forward to a future where I would be cancer-free.
To keep showing others that even when things are bad, God is good.

As we dove into treatments, everyday tasks became harder for me. Learning has always been easy for me, but even that grew to be difficult. On top of keeping track of traveling and treatments, I was doing online schooling.

Somehow the days were long, yet such a blur. 

Isaiah 41:10 was my lifeline verse during treatments.
It focused me. It calmed me. It pushed me. 

So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

In my fear, He was there.
In my weakness, He was my strength. 
In my discouragement, He lifted me up.
In my battle, He fought with me and for me.

Every time I stepped on a baseball field I felt like a little kid but now I feel nothing, not even a smirk comes across my face when I used to smile like I won the lottery. It was the same with football. When I started playing football in middle school I loved it and it gave me the same feeling as baseball, but when I got told I couldn’t play it anymore being on the field or at practice has never felt the same. 

Even though this happened two years ago it feels like my whole life has been changed even from when I was a little kid. It’s a feeling you just can’t describe unless it happens to you. It makes you feel as if you didn’t actually live the first part of your life, like you just fast-forwarded through it and you don’t remember any of it. 

Looking back, it’s surreal.
I know that it all happened, but somehow I barely remember it. 

However, I’m reminded every single day that cancer changed my life forever. 

I’m reminded when my friends talk about junior year that I missed most of.
I’m reminded when I see the scar that travels down most of my leg.
I’m reminded when my teammates suit up for 5AM practice.
I’m reminded when my knee aches after sitting at desks.

I’m reminded of the battle that I faced, but also the battle that I won.
The battle that was won with a lot of prayer and perseverance. 

Through this fight, I often thought about Reggie Garrett. 
When I was eight years old, my dad coached at West Orange-Stark. He coached a quarterback who I looked up to and who felt like an older brother to me. Another young man who was secretly battling right ventricular cardiomyopathy when he collapsed on a football field. I remember watching him throw an incredible touchdown pass, then dropping to the ground. 

On the day of his funeral I remember vowing to never let anything stop me. 

I promised myself to push forward and fight no matter what.
I promised to give 112%. 

Even though my 112% may look different than I imagined, the point remains.

I’m going to fight and never back down.
I’m going to face every challenge head on. 
I’m going to give my all, then give some more.
And I’m going to win because I know Who is fighting beside me. 

Another moment I’ll never forget is the day I finally got to ring the bell.
That represented the end of my fight against cancer, like the buzzer at the end of the championship game.
The final buzzer at the end of the longest, hardest game I’ve ever played.
The greatest game I’ve ever played. 

Your game may look different than mine.
Your fight may have just started.
The point remains:

God is right beside you. 
He is strengthening you.
He is guiding you. 
He is with you.

Give 112% and never back down. You win in the end because He wins. 
Press forward until you get to ring the bell and hear the last buzzer.