The last months of Bree’s life were, absurdly, full of hope. Hope like a burst of yellow; the vivid dash of goldenrod, daffodils, yarrow; a sudden splash of spring color in the monochrome of the wintery cancer ward. It came when she needed it most— when the world had narrowed to stark black and white. When she had all but given up.
It was a thickly snowy season in Delaware, many months into her internment in the ward. Tethered to the bed, she’d seen spring and summer froth and flourish through panes of glass that were perfumed only with Lysol, and she watched the tree- of-heaven outside her window turn bright as hot coals as September fell into October, its fiery orange leaves fluttering like Himalayan prayer flags. She’d arrived in May with a cough and was still here in November, sicker than ever. She’d thought watching summer flitter by had been difficult, but winter was looking to be infinitely worse. It was like being buried alive.
The hospital was muffled from late October on, with great drifts of constant snowfall. The gusting winds blew the last leaves from the trees well before Halloween, and November spat with ice storms and arctic temperatures. The windows fogged up and she lost her meager view.
As Thanksgiving neared, Bree watched the perky newsreader on channel three sweeping her hand from North Carolina to Vermont, tracing the projection of yet another storm. The holiday was going to be bleak. Bree wasn’t sure which was worse: the weather outside, or the conditions in here, where the ice-white fluorescent lights hummed, everything had a chemical smell, and the food was so soft that it turned to paste when you tried to cut it.
And then there was chemo . . .
Just the thought of chemo made her want to curl into a ball. She still had mouth ulcers from her last course.
“At least you’ll be free and clear of it for the holiday,” her oncology nurse had told her with brisk optimism. “You’ll be able to eat some turkey.”
Bree could only imagine what the hospital kitchen could do to turkey. She pictured dry white shingles of meat in commercial-grade tinned gravy. Wrinkly peas. A couple of stubby carrots leached of color. If she was lucky…
Keeping yourself occupied with essential tasks should help you overcome your video game addiction. I was once addicted to cookie clicker games, but I quit due to my burden and the need to earn money. Actually, earning money for my other requirements and desires is more essential.