In Margaret Edson's play, Wit (1999), a bald Vivian Bearing walks on stage in her hospital gown pushing an IV pole and complains: I have been asked "How are you feeling today?" while I was throwing up into a plastic washbasin. I have been asked as I was emerging from a four-hour operation with a tube in every orifice, "How are you feeling today?" I am waiting for the moment when someone asks me this question and I am dead. I'm a little sorry I'll miss that.
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