“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Being a proper candidate meant that I would turn my life over to medical science in the hospital for at least a year: a year spent in therapy, surgical procedures, and more therapy, until I ended up having at least four separate operations. My knee joints and hip joints could thus be replaced.

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.

What might happen to the body, I wondered, even if its psychic tenant were willing to endure any or all of those “surgical procedures”? I answered my own question by remembering accounts I had on file, explaining how people of various ages had withstood numerous, incredible operations, sometimes over a period of years. But I was horrified to think that my dear wife might become involved in a similar reality, with or without my unwitting compliance. I knew that she was far from making any decisions about surgery, but I recoiled from pushing any such suggestions upon her, no matter how fine it would be to see her on her feet. Joint-replacement operations were irreversible procedures, and I also had on file material about how they sometimes failed.

Short of outright failure, however, some of the articles I’ve collected contain the information that a conventional artificial joint replacement—for a knee, say—usually lasts only from four to seven years before loosening. A most discouraging prospect! What does one do when the insert begins to wobble? None of the doctors we’d talked to had mentioned such a possibility. (One can always claim that being able to walk for even four years is a lot better than not walking at all!) Jane and I also read that through experiments with animals medical designers are working to perfect an artificial knee joint with porous surfaces, to promote better bonding of bone to metal; it could last 15 years or more. Someday, I told Jane, and regardless of whether or not we ever choose to take advantage of any of them, we’ll be questioning orthopedic surgeons very closely about what “surgical procedures” are available.

[...] It developed that she’d had to have a new catheter inserted at around 11:00 AM, and that she was worried about being transferred to another room if and when the administration shut down surgical 3, as they call it. [...]

[...] Judy said the latest now is that six patients—including Jane—are to stay where they are in Surgical 3. “Thank God,” Jane said. [...]

(Saturday, also, the nurses told us that it’s now been decided by administration that all the people who were moved out of Surgical 3 are now to be moved back first of the week. [...]

[...] A couple of the nurses told us that Surgical 3 is back up to full operations again—with a load of some 15 patients coming in this morning, for a total of 22 or 23. [...]

(Georgia also told us, with Patty, that they’d just heard that the administration of the hospital had decided to close down the section room 330 is in, because “they’d just realized that Surgical 3 is short of staff.” [...]

[...] While Jane was having a cigarette, Georgia came in to tell us the projected closing of Surgical 3 was now off. [...]

[...] Some of the rooms in Surgical 3 were dark, their beds freshly made and lying in wait for patients in the gloom. [...]

[...] On the way to Jane’s room, I stopped in Surgical 1 to give Georgia the unicorn we’d bought for her yesterday, and the poem Jane had written, which I’d transcribed onto the card we’d also bought. [...]

[...] She’s also being moved to the first floor — Surgical 1. I have a toy unicorn I’ll be giving her tomorrow, along with a verse Jane wrote. [...]

[...] He asked about Jane’s condition, and said that in a month or so the ulcer on Jane’s coccyx might have to be surgically closed if it didn’t do so on its own. [...]

Now: Your documentary rather neatly shows two portions of the world’s mind operating at odds, rather than in complementary ways—almost as if they were surgically separated, or somehow functionally impaired, as in many ways they have been through misunderstandings throughout the years. [...]

A dentist would shudder, and often surgical methods are used to correct such a condition, when, if left alone, and with changes in a person’s living situation, the condition would right itself. [...]

[...] “I’m going crazy,” she said twice, referring to the hectic day she’d had on Surgical 3 today. [...]

The consequences however for the nation and the world would be far more disastrous had these hates and aggressions not found these therapeutic, almost surgical, unfortunately necessary, outlets.