1 result for (book:deavf1 AND heading:"essay 1 thursday april 1 1982" AND stemmed:jane)

DEaVF1 Essay 1 Thursday, April 1, 1982 23/44 (52%) hospital Mandali backside thyroid arthritis
– Dreams, "Evolution", and Value Fulfillment: Volume One
– © 2012 Laurel Davies-Butts
– Introductory Essays by Robert F. Butts
– Essay 1 Thursday, April 1, 1982

Displaying only most relevant fragments—original results reproduced too much of the copyrighted work.

¶11

Jane’s hearing is much improved after treatment with decongestants and a pair of minor operations in which tiny drainage tubes were inserted through her eardrums—the procedure is called surery—to relieve internal blockage. Jane’s thyroid gland, Dr. Mandali finally told her, has simply ceased functioning, so the doctor has begun a program of cautiously rejuvenating my wife’s endocrine system, and thus all of her bodily processes, with a synthetic thyroid hormone in pill form (a low 50 micrograms to start). Jane is to take these pills for the rest of her life. [...] Dr. Mandali has prescribed drops to keep Jane’s eyes lubricated, and a liquid salicylate medication (as a substitute for aspirin) to control joint pain and inflammation. [...] The increased glandular activity is also expected to have some beneficial effects upon Jane’s arthritis, and possibly upon her anemia (a condition that often accompanies arthritis). I asked that she be tested for food allergies, since I’d read that reactions to various foods and additives can trigger arthritis, but Dr. Mandali said that “if Jane is allergic she (Jane) would know it”—a position I came to most thoroughly disagree with. [...]

¶6

[...] Although she’s not entirely in agreement with me on this point, I think that essentially Jane is a mystic—not an easy thing to be in our extroverted, materialistic society, for it represents a way of life that’s little understood these days. [...] Mysticism is still overwhelmingly regarded as a profoundly religious expression, and one that’s hardly practical, but in my opinion neither of those situations applies to Jane. [...] There’s nothing halfway about Jane. [...]

¶42

Jane and I didn’t know whether the doctors we did business with even knew what a trance state was. I envisioned some hilarious episodes during which Seth, speaking through Jane, would try to explain to gatherings of medical people just who he was and what he believed. Next, he’d go into what Jane and I believed, and why. [...]

¶5

As the days passed Jane kept putting me off about doing the translation, until finally I grew resentful and despairing at her refusal to cooperate. [...] I’d seen Jane operate in that fashion before, and I knew she’d have her way.

¶9

Jane has been home from the hospital since last Sunday, March 28. [...] Even now not all of Jane’s decubiti have fully healed, although several of them have closed up nicely.

¶10

[...] A sign warning of infection was put on the door of 3B9, Jane’s room, and stayed there until she went home. “If the infection in that ulcer on your coccyx reaches the bone, it means at least a six-week stay in the hospital,” exclaimed Jane’s principal doctor, Rita Mandali (not her real name). [...]

¶12

Because of her much-reduced thyroid activity, Jane often dozes or even sleeps in her chair. [...] Jane never reached her goal, however. [...]

¶14

After some hesitation following my question about having a session this evening, Jane decided she wanted to contribute introductory material for Dreams. This was to be a new experience for us: Because of the arthritis she was having trouble even holding a pen, so she intended to dictate her material as though she were writing it herself in longhand. [...] For Jane’s own work, however, I note times, occasional pauses, and any other information in italics, just as I do for Seth’s dictation.

¶41

This is a good place to explain that while Jane was in the hospital neither of us ever made any attempt to “convert” the people there—doctors, nurses, technicians, say—to a belief in the Seth material. Beyond saying that Jane was a writer and that I was an artist, we told no one of our interests in life. [...]

¶2

That evocative, prophetic line is from a Sumari song that Jane sang to herself a few days before she went into an Elmira, New York, hospital on February 26, 1982. [...]

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