“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

By then, my wife was almost always uncomfortable to some degree, and sometimes in outright pain. She had to sit on a high stool to do the dishes. She still walked by leaning on her typing table and pushing it forward step by step—but she did this much less frequently, perhaps only once or twice a day. Instead, it became routine for her to get around the house by using her feet to draw herself along as she sat in her wheeled office chair. She seldom left the house; she could barely maneuver down the two steps into the garage off her writing room, and into our car. Jane had a lot of trouble getting into the shower. She had much difficulty sitting for the long hours she spent at her desk. Her fingers didn’t work easily when she typed, or wrote with pen and pencil, or held a paintbrush.

Jane resisted lying down a couple of times a day to get some relief, although usually I was able to talk her into doing so. For many complex reasons she refused to go the conventional medical route, as she always had—and I felt [and still do] that my own hang-ups in that area prevented me from helping her as much as I should have. Instead, Jane insisted upon trying to use her abilities to help herself. I grieved to see my wife in such distress, but ultimately could do little beyond helping her get as comfortable as possible. Among other things, I bought her a water-filled cushion for her chair. It gave her some relief, but she needed much more help than that.²