Prepare for Battle Soldier

After a treatment, the countdown towards the next treatment has already begun. It's a running timer that continuously resets itself and I cannot seem to avoid it. 25 of the last 29 months my treatments have come almost as sure as the sun rises. and when the breaks are given to you, that clock merely extends itself, but still it ticks away. Time doesn't stand still for a moment, except for the moments when you feel your absolute worst, when the clock seems to sit at 1:23 p.m. for an eternity. My pursuit against my disease seems to cast me as Sisyphus, the man condemned by the Greek gods to endlessly roll a boulder to the top of a mountain, at which point the boulder would roll back down from it's own weight. Laboriously, I accept my treatment and begin my banal ascent towards recovery at the top of the mountain. My Sisyphean task near completion, I reach the top of the mountain believing that, this time, my boulder might stay. The momentary hesitation of the stone only serves to reinforce my hopes that this time it will remain; yet, the boulder plummets towards the ground as I arrive back at the hospital for the next round of treatment. The fight and struggle seems futile, as the energy appears to be exerted towards accomplishing nothing.
The muscles tighten and fire electric signals to the brain, which relays back the physical movement of the body against its boulder. The body goes low for leverage and the foot digs into the ground. Sweat pours from the brow and often times the struggle seems too cumbersome a task. Then, the task is complete and the task is resurrected in the return to the chemo chair.
Sisyphus and I differ because he is dead and I am very much alive. My task may appear futile, but I have something that Sisyphus does not have: hope. His situation is infinite, decreed by the gods with no possibility for success, whereas though my torture may seem destined for failure, there has been no such prophecy.
I walk down the mountain towards my boulder smiling. Not because I am glad enjoy my plight, but rather because one day I will put the boulder in its place and descend the mountain with no plans to return.
So today, as I walk towards the boulder that awaits me in the chomo chair tomorrow, I smile, raise my glass, and propose a toast to life, to love, and to happiness (as I do every Wednesday night before chemotherapy). So, if you happen out on a random Wednesday night, and see me walk down the mountain and in the door of the bar, come and join me, we like company and good conversation, especially to clear the mind and become composed before we return to our burden. There is no cross we bear that is too heavy for our will to maintain, only a mind too irresolute to decide to do so.
"If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you go on in spite of it all. And so today I still have a dream." - Martin Luther King, Jr.