“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] Before you nursed these separately, and felt, both of you, overburdened at times, and misunderstood by the other.

[...] I had the impression of a doctor and a nurse, ushering someone into a side room and then closing another door that blocked my “vision.” [...]

[...] My own fears left me seeing visions of a drastically changed relationship between us, and a different life-style, one probably considerably less private if she needed nursing care, say, “What are you trying to do to me?” I demanded, and so forth. [...]

[...] You might find them as doctors and nurses, while not usually as hospital administrators. [...]

We have helped nurse it along by our energy. [...]

[...] To the best of my knowledge Jane had never seen it, since I carried it in my wallet from the time Dr. Colucci’s nurse gave it to me.

[...] If train means travel, the article on the front of the object mentions that one of the newly-elected council members, Frances Donahue, has returned to Skidmore after two years practice nursing in New York City.

[...] Your father’s condition frightened him because of the mother’s old suggestions of losing the mind, and of course the nursing home environment that represents to him the mother’s environment.

[...] Although Jane’s father, and my own, had died the previous year (in 1971), our mothers were still living: Jane’s in a nursing home in upstate New York, and mine at the Butts family home in Sayre, Pennsylvania, which is only 18 miles from Elmira and just south of the New York State border. [...]

[...] She is a nurse, has married a doctor from Turkey, and is spending a few months in this country before joining him in Turkey. [...]

[...] In that other probability in which your parents originally met, your mother married a doctor, became a nurse, and helped her husband in his practice. [...]

[...] Whenever you doubt it then you have need of doctors and nurses and it is good to have them if there is no other place to turn. [...]

[...] (One of our cats nearly killed a young robin today, and Jane is trying to nurse it back to health.) The episode however was one of a series of interruptions of your private hours, and I do seriously recommend that you be allowed your work period without disturbance.

[...] After his death Ella was moved to a nursing home.

[...] Jane’s nurse now visits but twice a week, which is all that’s necessary (my wife’s decubiti are under control, for example).

[...] Neither of these two companions are professional nurses, though they are used to taking care of people with troubles like Miss Callahan’s. May 23 is the date Seth gave us as a day of crisis for Miss Callahan; and Seth reiterated this along with a word of caution in the last session, the 54th, page 90.

[...] On an entirely different level and in a different way, she might have no such experiences but be a writer of murder mysteries, or a nurse in surgery. [...]

(When Jane called the hospital on April 20, she talked to a nurse who did not know the details of Miss Callahan’s case, Miss Dineen said; otherwise we would have learned of the real circumstances of Miss Callahan’s removal much sooner. [...]

[...] She had finally been taken to another nursing home, and once again she entered my psychic life as she withdrew more and more from ordinary concerns.

During this time also Jane’s mother, Marie, lost her home in Saratoga Springs, NY, and was placed in a state-run nursing home in nearby Middle Grove. [...] Later the nursing home was closed by the state. [...]

[...] When I came home from the hospital for the last time in a year and 9 months, John went to Jane’s room 330 and very carefully gathered up all of the belongings and artifacts we had accumulated there and brought them to me in 1730: my paintings and drawings, the letters from readers that I had put up on the walls (the hospital never complained), the session notebooks for The Way Toward Health, our books and magazines and newspapers and clothes, the flowers and other gifts from readers and from some of the nurses—all of those things that seem to accumulate almost by themselves as one seeks to create a home wherever that may be.