“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(We did one thing, surprisingly, that made us both feel very good. Jane was telling me that an aide who took care of her this morning, and who is living apart from her husband and has three kids, looked at a second-hand washing machine this noon but couldn’t afford the $130 cost. “Tell her we’ll pay for it,” I said, or words to that effect. Maybe I said, “We can get it for her.” It would save her going to the laundromat to do the wash, though it made no provision for the drying part of the chore. Jane at once enthusiastically agreed. As though on signal, the aide came in to empty Jane’s Foley, and we explained our idea to her. Predictably, she said no at first, but we talked her into it.

(“No one’s ever done anything like that for me,” she said. We explained, not in great detail, that others have helped us. It was decided I’d give her the cash tomorrow, rather than have her or the store send me the bill. She couldn’t believe it. She kissed each of us. We asked her not to tell anyone, though I expect she’ll tell Georgia, her closest friend in the hospital. She thanked us again before she left work.

(I haven’t seen Jane so enthusiastic about doing anything for a long time. She positively bubbled with pleasure, and I knew at once that we’d made the right decision. This could have very beneficial therapeutic effects on my wife, I realized. Helping another in this fashion was a breakthrough for us. I’d often wondered what else I — or anyone else — could do to help Jane, and here a possible solution lay right before us all the time …)

(August 23. This morning the ringing telephone got me out of bed at 5:45 a.m. It couldn’t be anyone except someone at the hospital, I thought as I ran out of the bedroom. It was Shawn, the night nurse. I talked to Jane: “I’m not dying or anything, but could you come down now? I’m so uncomfortable …”

(I fed the cats and shaved, and arrived at 330 before 7:00 a.m. Jane was very sore. I got two night-shift aides to help me get the chuck out from under her, and we gradually got her more comfortable. She didn’t look so hot, with her face all screwed up in pain. Darvoset helped calm her down. I saw that the swollen bubble of fluid on her left shoulder blade was way up — this was causing much of her discomfort. She didn’t know whether to stay on her side or go on her back at first, but the shifting of her position helped, actually. Mary, the head nurse, came in and I said the bubble should be drained to relieve the pressure. She agreed: “They’ll stick a needle in it.” She made a note on a chart and left, very pleasant — but no action was taken during the day. No doctor showed up.

(At breakfast Jane said that later today she wanted to have a short session if at all possible. She seemed to feel better as the day progressed. I’d taken the notebook with Chapter 9 of Dreams to the hospital with me. I was working on it when she told me to shut the door and get out the notebook for sessions.

(Jane’s voice was halting, almost high-pitched, with a sort of unusual sing-song delivery. Her eyes were half closed most of the time.)

The giving away of the money in order to help with someone else’s current need was, in it’s own way, a stroke of genius, regardless of its seeming simplicity and childishness.

Your own behavior was impeccably correct in agreeing, and also in your very early morning visit.