“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(I brought Jane back home from St. Joseph’s hospital in Elmira, New York at about 4:15 PM yesterday. Her doctor, Marsha Kardon, had had her admitted at supper time the day before [May 20, Thursday] because the middle finger of Jane’s left hand had begun to turn blue from the last joint to the nail.

(I called the doctor not long after Peggy left. Dr. K. said, “I think I’d better take a look at that.” She’d been out of her office, but returned my call to her nurse almost at once. She was at the house by 6 PM, examined the finger and gave Jane a quick general checkup. She talked about a possible blood clot, “other causes,” and mentioned vasculitis, a condition that results in restricted capillary blood flow to the extremities, and can accompany arthritis. She’d suspected vasculitis when Jane had been first admitted to Arnot Ogden early in February, but tests had ruled it out. Dr. K. went home to call Dr. Sobel in Ithaca, and Dr. Wilwerth at St. Joe’s. The former is a rheumatologist who examined Jane at the Arnot, the latter is a specialist in circulatory matters. She soon called to say that Dr. Sobel was out of town for at least a week, and that Dr. W. didn’t think a clot was involved from the description she’d given him.

(The finger was turning darker, though. Massaging Jane’s lower arm helped. “If you were anyone else I’d have you at the emergency room at St. Joe’s for more blood tests,” Dr. K had told Jane at the house. She was obviously concerned, as were we. On her call, we asked her what she’d do on her own. She suggested we go to the emergency room for blood tests, and we agreed. A few minutes later, as I was hurriedly throwing a few things into a bag, Dr. K. called again, to say that we could save the emergency room fee if she had Jane admitted directly into a room. We agreed. Jane cried briefly. I turned the car around in the driveway, wheeled her out in her office chair, and managed to get her up onto the front seat, awkwardly and with discomfort. I’d called the Bumbalos, our neighbors across the street, for help, but they were away.

(I made only one false turn driving to the emergency room at St. Joe’s, since we’d never been there before, but found the entrance easily. A hefty security guard lifted Jane out of the car into a wheelchair. They were waiting for us in the emergency room. While someone took Jane up to her room, #456—in pediatrics, by the way —I found my way to admissions, after getting lost in the hallways once. Since Jane still wasn’t covered by insurance, I could get her only a semiprivate room. The black girl at the typewriter had the papers all made out, from the information Dr K. had given last February when she’d talked of transferring Jane from the Arnot.

(To leave St. Joe’s I had only to sign a slip of paper promising payment, but we don’t know what the bill will be or when we’ll receive it—within a few days, I suppose.