Visualize success...

I was told by my first doctor (who is no longer treating me since I've been moved to Johns Hopkins) that I needed to visualize the cancer leaving my body. My first visualization was of me, in a big red tube (inside my bone marrow), with big pins attached to my shoes and hands, popping tons of white balloons (those blasted blasts). It was an okay visual, but I needed more drama and suspense so I've come up with a new, improved visualization. So visualize with me...

It's a dark, stormy night, and we see the inside of a dark, seedy bar. Men in white suits with white fedoras fill the room - drinking at the bar, huddling in the booths, lurking against the walls, all nursing their bourbons (do gangsters drink bourbon?) and leering at each other suspiciously - no one speaks unless spoken to, and no one is speaking. The only sound is of the ice cubes falling into the glasses and the pouring of bourbon (I guess it could be gin or something, if gangsters don't drink bourbon). All of a sudden, a huge *BANG!* from the front door of the bar - a collective gasp echoes through the room as a militant gang of fedora-donned mobsters dressed in blood red trench coats smashes through the door, tommy guns pointed in every direction. And then the sound of gunfire - the red-coated mobsters completely fill the room, killing each and every one of the white-suited men (I guess the bartender can live, he's neutral). There is white carnage everywhere (the white-suited men bleed white), and finally, satisfied that every single white-suiter is dead, the head gangster makes a covert signal with his hand and the whole gang files out. Then the "cleaner" comes in - he works for the gangsters, of course, that kind of mess would certainly draw attention - and sterilizes the bar, top to bottom.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

Get it?! So the white-suiters are the bad white blood cells and the blasts (they both get to wear white), and the red trench-coated mobsters are the new, healthy red blood cells! BOOYAH! Of course there are more bars to storm and the gangsters have to make sure they're thorough in the wiping-out of the white-suiters, but they're up for the challenge. That's how I'm visualizing the cancer leaving my body. My parents always said I had an active imagination.