Gladiator

Undergoing chemo is much like being a gladiator in Roman times. At least that is how it goes in my head. I am in this cool outfit with brown skin and defined muscles, my feet dirty. And I go out and fight in the field, and somehow, maybe by mere luck, defeat the dragon or whomever the opponent was. And then, everyone loves me, they throw flowers down from the stands, cheer for me, call me, feed me croissants and rich foods.  And this is great. Until I realize that because I won, I have to fight again.  In 3 weeks. I know that I may not survive the next round. But what choice do I have?  I start thinking will it hurt if I get killed? If I lose, will the crowd still love me, and cheer for me? And my body will be injured and damaged from the battles. Eventually that might weaken me to where they have to call the fight because I am just not able to put up enough of a scrum to be entertaining.  I start getting nervous.  A lot is riding on this fight. I enter the ring again tomorrow for Round 3.