Drama critic Terry Teachout appears to be in fine form after his illness:
I already knew one thing that was at least as important: whatever the verdict, I wasn’t going to give up without a fight. I have music to hear, plays to review, paintings to see, etchings to buy and treasure, a book to finish writing, a blog to keep, dozens of friends who claim quite convincingly to love me, and many, many memories, a few dark and desperate, far more full of light. In the last few days alone countless things have happened, small and large, that make me want to cling as fiercely as possible to whatever time remains on the ticking clock whose face I cannot see. I have felt this way once before in my life, in the months immediately following 9/11. It took nothing less than a congested heart to make me feel the same way again.
I particularly enjoyed this:
Two minutes later a two-man team of paramedics was slapping an oxygen mask on my face and slipping an IV into my right arm.
“So you’re a drama critic, huh?†one of them asked as they carried me down the stairs. “My grandma is coming to town for Christmas—I want to take her to a show. What do you suggest?â€
“Oh, definitely The Trip to Bountiful,†I said, my voice muffled by the mask. “I guarantee she’ll like it.â€
