The Short Life and Tragic Death of Stevie Daniels

I was checked into the hosptial at 9:16pm and had a team of doctors and nurses worrying about me by 9:20. Water had collected in my lungs making it difficult to breath, and my body wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

They called it pulmonary edema.
They had to drain the water out. Before they knocked me out to do the procedure I made my bandmates swear not to tell anyone. Not to worry my parents, not to bother my boyfriend. I would tell them when I was better and when they had nothing more to worry about. When they knocked me out they put me on a machine that did all of my breathing for me. It was then that my body refused to wake up.

After my surgery I was put back into a private room where doctors were checking on me constantly.

It was there where it became clear, at least to me, that I was dying.

Because it was there, where I saw my body lying, pale and broken. It was there where I think my contagiousness left my body.

Because I could see everyone in the room, but no one could see me. Just the sick me, laying on the bed. No one could hear me call their names. No one could feel me touch their shoulders.

Austin, our drummer, joined the rest of the band in my room, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Okay. The doctor says that she’s become reliant on the breathing machine. Whenever they try to turn it down or off she starts to uhm.. suffocate. Her lungs aren’t picking up the slack.”

Damon groaned and put his head in his hands. “We were just making it, just starting to do what she had always dreamed of.”

“This isn’t the end!” Time yelled. “She’ll bounce back. She’s never ditched us yet. She won’t now.”

“It’s not like she has a choice!” Austin yelled back.

“She’s stubbon.” Tim replied. “She’ll make herself have a choice.”

"We should tell her parents. And John." Austin said. "The doctor mentioned goodbyes and-"

"NO." Damon yelled "She won’t need goodbyes. We promised not to tell-"

"I don’t think promises matter much." Tie said.

"Well I won’t be apart of this. She won’t be mad at me when she wakes up." Damon stormed out of the room.

"I got him." Tim followed him out. Austin took out his phone and dialed a number. I unknowingly moved closer to him.

"Ah shit. I wish I caught you. Hey John. It’s Stevie. She. Man, she’s sick. At the hospital in Nashville. She won’t wake up and the doctors are saying stuff about last goodbyes." He paused. I couldn’t figure out if he was on a voicemail or talking, but Austin was having a hard time getting it out. "I know you’re writing but I just though you should know." Austin walked out of the room, and I had no desire to follow him.

I sat on the bed, next to my body, breathing though that stupid machine. You’re messing everything up. I told her.

That body wasn’t me. I was me. That girl laying there was weak fragile awful, she just looked like me.

After a while I got tired of talking to myself. Being stuck in that room. My friend came and went but Damon was spending the most time with me. Mostly reading, writing, sometimes commenting on songs we were recording and then looking up for an answer from me.

"God Stevie. We can’t do this without you." He sighed ad stalked out just as Tim was coming in.

He sat next to my bed and pet my hair. “What do you want me do? What if you die, huh? Do you want us to find a new singer? Keep going? or fall apart like… Nirvana?”

You can’t ask me that. I- I- don’t want you to NEED a new singer. I told him but he couldn’t hear me.

TIM. Tim. Fuckin A! I yelled and waved my hands in his face.

"God. Stevie. What about the fans? I wish you could tell me what you want, I hate guessing for you.

I want to tell you! I really need to tell you.

"Sir?" a nurse said coming into the room. "Visiting hours are over. You can come back tomorrow. I’m sorry."

Tim sighed and stood up from his seat. “Bye Stevie.” he said and kissed my forehead. “We’ll all be back first thing.”

I wanted to tell him not to bother. He was just talking to no one, I couldn’t speak back, but I couldn’t.

The nurse came into the room after he left. I got a good look at her as she checked my vitals. She was black, on the larger side and had a southern accent.

It was apparent that, like my band, she didn’t care that I was unresponsive because she talked to me too. “Honey, you gotta start breathing on your own.” she looked up from her clipboard. “They won’t keep you on this machine forever. You’re too young to leave this earth, and you’ve got too many people to take care of.” She sighed.

"Let’s try again." She smiled at my body. "I’ll go get the doctor."

They tried twice, to slowly turn down the amount the machine was breathing for me. They went from 100% to 75% and my lungs did nothing, didn’t pick up any of the slack, my heart just started breathing faster.

I tired to breathe, making the motions, but my body didn’t do anything, just laid there helpless, frail, with dark circles under her eyes.

They tried again a few hours later, lowering only to 90% to see in my lungs would work at all.

They didn’t.

They didn’t even try.

Assholes.

And John was coming.

Oh god, I didn’t know for sure but since someone called him chances are he was coming.

Over protective fool.