Encore! Encore! Encore!

One of the achievements I’m proudest of in over 40 years of covering local theater is the fact that I’ve seen, and reviewed, every production mounted under the banner of South Coast Repertory from its inception in early 1965 to the present.

So whose semi-familiar byline appears over the review of the teen repertory’s current show, “Scouting Reality,” elsewhere in today’s edition? And is this the end of an era?

The answers are A, my theater-savvy high school teacher son, Timothy, who stepped in when his old man became seriously ill, and B, let’s hope not.

When “The Real Thing” opened, I was enjoying the view from the sixth floor of Hoag Memorial Hospital, where I’d been a guest for nearly two weeks.

The odds were about 50-50 whether I’d be coming back to work ? or to life. The culprit is an insidious condition known as septic shock, which developed from a particularly virulent form of pneumonia. And I was ripe for attack, having just finished chemotherapy treatments for non-Hodgkins lymphoma, which plays hell with the body’s immune system.

But thanks to the miracle workers at Hoag, I was wheeled into the bright sunshine Tuesday afternoon, a bit worse for wear but still among the “quick,” to recall the title of Norman Mailer’s novel.

Reviewing plays, or even enjoying my Tuesday night Scrabble sessions in Huntington Beach, seems to have been put on hold for a while. Just how long is in the hands of a half a dozen local doctors and therapists. The ordeal ? by far the worst of my life, outdistancing even the lymphoma ? began May 17 when my special lady, Jurine, drove me to a doctor’s appointment.

The doctor took one look at me and summoned the paramedics, even though you can see Hoag from his Newport Beach office. I can’t accurately describe the week that followed, since I spent it unconscious while doctors in Hoag’s critical care unit worked to restart my bodily engines. Most systems had shut down, and the possibility of a complete crash loomed.

Fortunately, the treatment worked, even though some of the mind-altering drugs I was given gave rise to some scenarios similar to those devised by Rod Serling, as illustrated by Salvador Dali. These proved quite amusing to Jurine, Tim and his wife, Brenda, and my daughter, Mindy, and her husband, Aaron.

Moved upstairs, I was placed in the hands of Hoag’s nurses, therapists, patient care workers and others, about whom I can’t say enough. This is the gold standard. If you must become seriously ill, pray that you’re sent to Hoag for treatment and recovery.

This whole thing hit without warning, and I’ll probably never be allowed to forget my parting words to Jurine as they loaded me into the ambulance. Not “I love you” or “Don’t worry, I’ll be OK,” but “Be sure to tape ‘Alias.’ ”

Hey, it was the end of the entire series, after all, and I’ve been an “Alias” junkie from Day 1. What I didn’t realize at the time was that I might not be around to watch it.

So what lies ahead? Hopefully, I’ll be back at local theaters soon, even if I do use a walker to get from the parking lot to the playhouse. And that surgical mask I’ll probably be wearing doesn’t mean I’m planning to hold up the box office.

They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Well, I’m still around after fighting the battle of my life. Now I’m looking forward to that “stronger” part.