“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

So last night, less than two days after she’d held her last session, I asked Jane for some material about the central theme of her days in the hospital, both from her own viewpoint and that of the doctors who probed, examined, and discussed her and her problems. Some of them talked about her right in front of her as though she weren’t there—and, Jane said, with her hearing still much impaired at that time, she almost felt as though she wasn’t there.

For the third time in five days she began dictating her own material right after breakfast. Once again from the card table in the living room:)

My condition had certain drawbacks, however: The two sides of my body were uneven, so I could end up with four bright new metal and plastic joints and still not be able to walk properly. I might need a cane, or a walker. Medical science would be willing to try, however. Out of the goodness of its heart, all of its scientific procedures would be put at my disposal. True, the amount of money required for such surgical possibilities was staggering, but insurance of one kind or another could be found to carry the cost. (We didn’t have nearly enough money, but could qualify for adequate insurance by fulfilling the terms of an 11-month waiting period.) But regardless of cost, one orthopedist saw me staying right in the hospital—now that I was there—until the entire procedure was finished. Particularly if, again, I proved to be a proper candidate.

(Long pause at 9:02.) Being a proper candidate meant getting rid of those bedsores, for one thing, as well as taking extensive physical therapy. As I listened to the doctor talk, poor hearing or no, I could almost feel medical science starting up all of its gears, ready to go to work on my behalf—and I wasn’t ready to make any such decision right then. I wanted to see how my body would react to the synthetic thyroid hormone and to therapy first. I wished to hell I could (underlined) run, I thought, for boy, I’d have run right out of there, fast!

(After a long pause in midsentence Jane began to doze. Her head dipped down. Her body began to slowly lean against the right arm of her chair in what has become a characteristic pose, for both her thyroid activity, and therefore her energy, are still below par even though she’s been out of the hospital for 24 days now. By 9:17 she was asleep. Watching her tilt more and more, I wondered whether she truly had the psychic and physical reserves to heal herself—whether anybody would under the circumstances. Perhaps her challenges were too much for her. What were her limits, how much more could she take after some 17 years of ever-increasing struggle, whether or not those challenges had been chosen—some of them far in advance—for whatever reasons?