Get Well Soon

Sophie Newell

I hate the color yellow; it makes me sick. I hate the dirty yellow light that flickers in my bathroom, and the white and yellow checkered shower curtain that hangs in front of my shower, which flows in the breeze of the ceiling fan. I hate the yellow rays of the sun. The ones that make their way through my curtains and shine right in my eyes when I am trying to sleep, and the ones that dance outside waiting for me, knowing that I can’t muster the strength to go bask in them. 

I hate the butter yellow color of my doctors’ masks, the ones that cover their smiles and muffle their words, a subtle reminder every day that I am not who I used to be before. I hate the yellow gold that twists and turns through the tubes from the IV bag to my arm, making me sicker and sicker with every drop. 

I hate the mustard yellow sweater I wore when I was admitted, back when I thought I had a cold, when I thought I would be okay. I hate the smell of home that still lingers in the fibers crocheted together. I hate the get well soon balloon that lies on the floor in the corner of the room, having fallen out of the air due to the length of time that it has been there. 

I hate the sunny fur of the therapy dog that goes door to door every Tuesday. I hate petting him and acting like he makes my day better. I hate looking at his hair and twirling it between my pointer and middle finger. I hate how it reminds me of the hair I once loved before the medicine made it all fall out, like a waterfall of sunflowers and gold falling straight down to my feet.

I hate the greedy, sickening yellow that has followed me around since the doctor told me I wasn’t going home, that I needed to be admitted into emergency surgery, that I had cancer, then a few weeks later, that I wasn’t going to make it. I hate the yellows that I once loved, the sunrise over the valley by my house, the lemon ice cream from the stand run by my favourite aunt. I hate that I won’t be able to love them ever again, I hate that the sick yellow coursing through my veins is strong enough to take over the ones that I cherished so dearly. I hate yellow, I hate that it makes me sick. I hate how it lingers forever, and I hate more than anything that I won’t ever be able to love it again.