Wilbur Reston was already in the intensive care unit of the tiny Florida hospital when I arrived at two-thirty a.m. I had been doing a series of temp jobs after having completed my medical residency at New York City’s Bellevue Hospital and now found myself in a small town on the Gulf Coast. The breathing tube in Mr. Reston’s throat and his heavy sedation precluded formal introductions. But there was a typewritten summary of his medical history that his wife had left with the nurses: a two-page, single-spaced account that chronicled the rebellion and demise of each organ in this sixty-one-year-old white man. He had survived three heart attacks and seven strokes. One kidney had been removed. He suffered from diabetes, high blood pressure, and congestive heart failure. He had emphysema, glaucoma, severe migraines, and arthritis. His medical history included pancreatitis, diverticulitis, pyelonephritis, sinusitis, cholethiasis, tinnitus, and ankylosing spondylitis. The typed paper also mentioned gastroesophageal reflux, vertigo, and depression. I quickly glanced over to the man hooked up to the ventilator to verify he was indeed alive.

   Danielle Ofri, "Living Will," The Missouri Review (Spring 2004), reprinted in Susan Orlean, ed., The Best American Essays 2005