I’ve repeatedly heard that the only thing to fear is fear itself, but in moments between life or death, could that be completely true?
I open my icy blue eyes and see nothing but white ceiling. The chandelier in the entry-way seems more beautiful than I remember, more classical. I begin studying the woodwork when I hear a quiet and distant whisper.
“Sissy?”
My sister’s voice immediately pierces my body. I feel... pain. My face feels damp, as if my nose had been running. I reach up to wipe the liquid and realize that it was in fact, red. Deep red like the roses right outside the door... So close, yet so far away. I start to giggle fiercely, but stop abruptly when reality smacks me in the face. Blood. At this point Abbi is whimpering in the background as I struggle to stand. I barely get to my knees before a sharp, twisting pain comes over my body like lightening. I lay back on the edge of the stairs and begin to worry that my sweet sister is seeing more than her little eyes can take.
“Abbi, sissy is okay. Can you go get the phone for me?”
“Oh, alright...” she stutters. I can sense the fear in her voice.
Possibilities flash through my brain and I wonder if I’ll ever get up. As Abbi crawls beside me I reach for the phone and contemplate on who I should call first, and ambulance or my parents. I decide not to bother my parents with what might be my last few breaths. I begin to type a “9” when my thoughts shift. Can an ambulance even take me without adults here? Where would Abbi go? I can smell the rich blood thickening under my nose; the copper taste lingering on my tongue. I quickly type my mother’s number, preparing my words to prevent scarring sweet Abbi anymore. I hear her voice through the speaker.
“Hello? What do you need?”
I try to get the first word out when a sea of black overwhelms my eyes. Unconsciousness whisks me away.
“This office is really nice,” my dad awkwardly blabs.
I nod my head, praying that he would simply shut the hell up. The hard patient’s bed was piercing my back, and the lights were too bright. A middle-aged nurse struts into my room with a blood pressure cuff and I immediately thrust out my arm. The nurse smells like peppermints. I hate peppermints. I’m judging her every molecule when a knock on the door indicated that the doctor was ready for me.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse states. “I’ll let you four talk.”
The doctor shakes my parents hands and forces an ugly smile at me. I already despise him.
“Hello Taylor, I hope you’re doing well today. We have quite a few things to discuss.”
He shuts the door and sits on his short stool. I come to the conclusion that I’m dying or dead. He glances at my parents.
“Your daughter has a medical condition called Pro-Long QT syndrome.”
He begins to explain all the odds and ends; I can sense my dad itching to whip out his iPhone to research what I’m sure he thinks he already knows about. I close my eyes to drift into my alternate reality as the long-legged professor explains the reason for my sudden fits of unconsciousness.
My eyes are focused on the masked faces around me, and my heart is ironically beating normally.
“Taylor, are you comfortable?”
I debate on telling him that I’d rather be gouging my back with sharpened knives than lying on this ridiculous “bed.” Instead I say,
“I’m fine.”
Fear languishes in my soul as the room gets colder. My pink fleshy fingers turn to ghostly white on the silver rails. These rails are only another reminder that I can’t get up. No matter how much I desperately want to leave from this invitation to death, I can’t. I begin to think about my family. What will my sister do if I don’t wake up? Who will show her all the tricks and secrets to the life of a girl? Other faces flash across my mind quickly... too quickly. I realize I’m not ready to leave this sinful world. I still have so many amazingly ignorant journeys in my humanly life. I pray that my body won’t be overcome by the same white my fingers have taken to. I pray that the doctors won’t crush the hearts of my parents by saying they’ve “done all they can do.” I can’t die. Not today. Not anytime soon. What if God isn’t pleased with the person I’ve been? I try to sit up to scream to the doctors that are trying to save my life to stop, I no longer want to be saved. But right as I open my mouth, my eyes are filled with the darkest black I’ve ever seen. Something smells like peppermints, like that fat nurse from the doctor’s office that began this tragedy. My thoughts stop there. I open my eyes to my mom’s fearful face too close to mine saying,
“Taylor? Are you awake?”
Ringing. That’s all I hear. A ringing as loud as a train traveling faster than light. I begin to believe I’m dead until I feel something strange. Something cold. Something wet. Something painful. I know this feeling. I remember it from another life. I slowly open my eyes to see the scariest vision possible. A chandelier. A dusty, beautiful chandelier. I try to turn my head but I’m stopped by a piercing pain in my neck. It hits me like the same train that delivered the overwhelming ringing. I contemplate what my next move will be. But what if the next turn kills me? I can see it now... “Taylor Nemenz, dead after tumbling down a flight of stairs.” What a pansy way to go. I build up enough courage to try and sit up as I remember; I’m alone. The rest of my family is away shopping. I feel my heart go to my throat, and all the fake courage I’d built up disappears. My senses start to return and I smell the same copper I smelt so many months ago. I feel the end of the stairs jabbing into my back. I look over towards my right arm and see nothing but dried blood. I begin to wonder how long I’d been laying here in the darkness.
A shot of guilt goes through my veins as I hope my little sister doesn’t have to see me in this state, yet again. What will this mean for me? Is my family going to have spend thousands of dollars to try and save my life? Or maybe this will be my last few minutes. Maybe, just maybe, my little heart will no longer be able to take this strain. The agony it’s been under the past year is understandably enough to make anyone give up. The thought that the only thing to fear is fear itself is completely thrashed from my mind when my only fear, and even a secret hope, turns into never getting up.
