Fight Song

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August 19th, 2024
The next morning
Taylor Swift's Point of View
My eyelids are as heavy as bricks and it feels like I'm opening iron gates. My brain feels like it's covered in fog and I can't keep my head straight. My body feels lightly numb all over but I manage to slightly pick up my index finger. I open my eyelids ever so slightly and see a glass door reading "Intensive Care Unit." I begin to retain noises that are flooding the room. Beep, beep, beep rhythmically one after another. There's loud footsteps and intercoms talking throughout the halls. My gag reflex kicks in and I make quiet coughs. They've intubated me which is probably a good idea but right now it's insanely uncomfortable. My coughs become more aggressive but this noise brings the attention of several staff members. One of the doctors takes some tape off my cheek and slowly removes the tube. I cough and gag for a moment as this wasn't very pleasurable. A light is brightly shined in my eyes and start to become overwhelmed.

Taylor, look at me
Taylor, look up
Taylor, can you tell me where you are?
Taylor, when were you born?
Taylor, do you know why you're here.
Taylor, Taylor, Taylor.

Anxiety begins to attack my body and my ability to breathe is taken from me again. Panic infuses with my bones and I can hear myself hyperventilating. I bite down on my jaw and feel tears slowly trailing down my face.

"She's scared! You're overwhelming her! Give her a minute!" I hear Joe yell at the doctors but I know they're just doing their best.

"Sir we need to run these tests."

"Can you wait like five minutes?" He asks them. All the doctors slowly back off and all leave the room except one. Joe walks over to me and sits on a chair by my bedside. He's wearing latex gloves and one of those disposable gowns. He picks up my hand and my anxiety begins to calm.

"Hey." He says softly.

"Hey." I try to smile but it feels too difficult.

"You made it." He rubs my hand softly, avoiding the IVs.

"Your-your accent is cute." I spit out. Not sure why I chose that.

"Thank you." Joe laughs a bit, probably noticing I'm stilling not really awake.

"Trampoline."

"Huh?"

"12 years ago, I wanted to get a trampoline room. I never did."

"And???"

"I want a trampoline room."

"I have so many questions right now."

"I'm tired of letting myself die. I want to go home and live those stupid dreams out."

"We can do as many of those stupid dreams as you want." A very small comes across my face and I think of all those stupid childlike things I wanted to do when I was in my early 20s.

"Revoke my DNR."

"What?"

"Revoke my DNR. I'm not ready to die."

"Okay. We can do that." Joe smiles and kisses my hand. A couple of doctors walk back in and I finally am able to calm down.

"Ready?" One of them asks. I respond with a nod and they run their mundane routine.

"What's your name and do you know where you are?"

"Taylor Swift and I'm in a hospital."

"Year?"

"2024."

"Can you touch your nose and then my finger?" I touch my nose several times as the doctor continues to movie his finger. These tasks are apparently important to get an idea on my neurological state but maybe they could make it more fun. Other doctors are going through my vitals and changing out my IVs.

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