The Game of Cancer - By Sarah Telford

Written By: Sarah Telford

Category: Memoir

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Sarah Telford shares a deeply personal and stirring memoir titled "The Game of Cancer" for the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This piece intricately weaves her journey through the harrowing realities of battling cancer, reflecting on survival and resilience. The memoir's raw honesty and vivid exploration of life's unexpected challenges capture the reader's attention, making it a significant contribution to the competition's memoir category.

About the Work

"The Game of Cancer" delves into the theme of survival against seemingly insurmountable odds, highlighting the emotional and physical toll of a prolonged battle with cancer. The narrative is steeped in vivid imagery, from hospital rooms to the emotional terrain of recovery and relapse. It is a testament to human strength and the relentless spirit to fight, imbued with Sarah's candid reflections and a hopeful outlook despite the challenges faced.

The Game of Cancer

Original Submission by Sarah Telford

Do you ever wonder when your number is up? When you’ve cheated death so many times you are convinced that you’re living on borrowed time? It’s like a baseball game I didn’t ask to play.

Or somehow -you’re in the middle of a game, and no matter how many times you strike out-you get another chance up at bat?

I have.

Some might call me lucky.

I’ve gotten through a few too many close calls to chalk it up to luck. Let me explain.

On Easter Sunday when I was eleven, while most kids were waking up early to hunt for chocolate eggs left by the Easter Bunny, I on was lying in a hospital bed fighting for my life. The previous night I had collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. It was there where it was discovered my blood was 98% leukemia. If the results of my blood test were delayed, I would have been a goner for sure. That was strike one.

Strike two came later during my treatment. My particular type of cancer required a long hospital stay, during which I picked up a bug. To be honest, I don’t remember much of that month. I remember the feeling though. The pain, the gut-wrenching nausea, the lack of basic dignity as my body fell apart. I was lucky to have the support system I did. I wouldn’t have survived if my family hadn’t been there, tending to my needs as my semi-conscious self just couldn’t cope. The parts I do remember aren’t fun. To this day I am reassured that I was fortunate to have “missed” the worst of it. I am grateful my mind has protected me with such foggy memories. Yet, I recuperated.

The rest of treatment had some terrible moments, but I didn’t come nearly as close to shaking death’s hand as I previously had. There was puke, pain, and times so trying my memory has blocked them out to protect me. My body fought to the point of exhaustion. I narrowly escaped many deadly situations by the grace of god. It’s sad when a bone marrow transplant seems anti-climactic. I was deemed cured, “cancer free”, and started the rocky road to recovery. It included intense physiotherapy, the slow wean off of medications, and the mental struggle to introduce myself to a “new normal”. It meant re-entering the social world with friends, desperately trying to connect with those far less mature than I had grown. It wasn’t easy, but I was getting there. It wasn’t until a year later that the next blow hit. Strike three.

Every cancer survivor faces that daunting feeling that their disease may come back. That is every patient’s worst nightmare, including my own. Then mine came true. Slowly the dreaded fatigue flooded back into my body. I saw blood when I spat in the sink after brushing my teeth. Even the night before the official biopsy, everyone in my house knew it: the cancer was back. As least this time they seemed to catch it early.

And just like that I was thrown back into the medical world. While other pre-teens were starting to explore their interests, fashion, style, or start dating, I was thrust into the world of hospitals. Needles, chemotherapy…nothing that resembles what pre-teen years should look like. I got into remission with one round of chemo, but had no idea that this would be my easiest battle. Secondary infections such as Typhlitis and C. Difficile set in. It was a fight to stay out of ICU. I was put on a pain drip, with fentanyl pumped into my body every few minutes, but even that wasn’t enough to control the excruciating agony. My parents stuck by my side through it all, holding my hand even when I couldn’t feel them there. We still don’t know how we made it out of that one.

Once I was in the clear, it was time for transplant number two: a stem cell transplant instead of bone marrow. This time, they induced what they call graft versus host disease quickly after transplant. They did this by removing any immunosuppressants. This created an opportunity for a slight rejection of the transplant, where the new cells attack the current system because they don’t recognize it. It’s the two different systems fighting each other. Since my sister was my donor, we like to joke it is the ultimate sibling rivalry. This fighting also means the cells attack any lurking cancer cells, meaning more chance of staying in remission. It worked, until it didn’t.

The graft versus host disease got out of control. It attacked all of my organs. My stomach, my lungs, my muscles, even my skin was affected. I broke out in a terrible rash and my skin grew so tight you could bounce a quarter off of it. The only way to keep it at bay way intense steroids, which caused their own damage. They ate away at my bones, making them brittle. We were caught between a rock and a hard place. Every time we tried to lower the steroid dose, graft versus host disease would rear its ugly head. I began to deteriorate. I started to lose the ability to walk and had to rely on a wheelchair. Strike four came with a vengeance. Usually it’s three strikes and you’re out. Something special kept me in the game.

Eventually we were left with a last resort: extra corporal photopheresis (ECP). Sort of like dialysis for the blood, where they take out a layer of white blood cells, treat them with light, and then return them to the body. This stopped the foreign immune system from attacking mine. It worked, kind of. We started to see small improvements and were able to lower the steroid dose. Then came that fateful day, and strike number five.

To perform ECP, a needle was used to access my port. As it was extremely deep in my chest, this wasn’t always easy and couldn’t always be done on the first try. That’s when it happened.

Weeks later, my port was extremely infected. I had to undergo emergency surgery to remove it. Low and behold, my time in the hospital lead to yet another bug: RSV. It started as pneumonia and progressed from there. Strike six.

This one I can’t quite remember at all. I was in ICU for weeks, completely unconscious and on a ventilator. My x-rays were completely white. The doctors told my parents to prepare for the worst. They flew my sister in to say goodbye. But my mother wasn’t done yet. She called in a doctor from my transplant hospital. Under his instruction, I was given a blast of steroids. Miraculously, I woke up.

All I remember is waking up back in the ward, with no idea what had happened. I had lost a lot in those weeks. My mobility, my ability to breathe on my own, my overall strength, all things I would have to fight to regain. Yet, I was alive.

Since my port was removed, there was no way to continue ECP. Even if there was, I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. The graft versus host disease roared with freedom. It was powerful, too powerful. We tried experimental drugs, but nothing seemed to work. I remember the day when my palliative care doctor came and sat on my bed. I asked him if I was going to die. He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes,” he answered simply. They sent me home on a plethora of medications to “make me comfortable.”

Then the most strange thing happened. I went home. I waited. I waited to deteriorate and say goodbye. But it never came. I slowly got more strength. The GVHD began to fade on its own. Piece by piece I recovered. I was able to go without oxygen longer and longer. I weaned off of the pain medications. I became myself again.

I don’t really know how I won the fight against GVHD. Maybe it had just run its course. Maybe the experimental drugs did have some long-term effect. We will never know. All I know is I get better every day. I still can’t walk, and my arms and legs have contractures, but once again, I am here.

If you were counting, you can see clear as day I am well past the allotted three strikes in a ball game. For some reason, I was given a few extra chances to swing at the plate. So was my number up the first time? Did I have something or someone looking out for me along the way? I guess I will never know. All I know is I’m not going to take this extra chance for granted. I was meant to survive for some reason, and I am still searching for what that reason is. I am an avid advocate for persons with disabilities and childhood cancer survivors, and hopefully my work will help someone else along the way. If you are living on borrowed time like me, make the most of it. Advocate for what you believe in. You never know when your final strike will come. You’ve just got to stick in the game.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse voices in the arts. It invites writers from around the world to share their stories, poetry, and creative works, fostering a global dialogue through literature. This competition is a beacon for aspiring and established writers alike, providing an opportunity for their work to reach an international audience.

We extend our gratitude to Sarah Telford for sharing her poignant memoir, "The Game of Cancer," in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her narrative not only enriches the competition but also inspires many with its profound message of resilience and hope. Thank you, Sarah, for your courage and for contributing your powerful story to this global platform.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.