Medical Intuition 101: It Nags

I was in my late twenties and I didn’t take my intuition seriously. One of my friends, who was pursuing a Master’s in social work, said I was such a good reader of people I should become a psychologist. I entertained the idea, spent one year working toward a PsyD degree. I quickly realized my ability to read people wasn’t enhanced by studying clinical psychology. The courses, though interesting and useful for personal development, were analytical, and thinking of people this way, trying to fit them into boxes based on their behavior, shifted me into ego. When analyzing people through ego, I found my ability to organically read and understand people wasn’t as easy. In fact, it felt very complicated. I asked myself, “Why do I need to go through all of this complex theory when I can tune into people and get right to it?” Then came Statistics. And I said, I’m out. I happily returned to my first career, newspaper reporting, where I could use my intuition freely while interviewing people and still feel I was making a difference.

I was used to naturally using intuition to help confused friends and family seeking clarity, but I didn’t realize that I also had the ability to read myself. I had always been a spiritual person, believed in angels, and prayed to saints, Jesus and Mother Mary. But I didn’t think I was anyone special, that my guardian angel would go out of his way to help me out. I didn’t think God installed a GPS in my soul, one that would automatically guide me, whether I listened or not.

This time, in my late twenties, I chose to listen. This health crisis was too loud to ignore, and I had a nagging assurance that I had the Epstein Barr Virus and it was making me very sick. I refused to continue suffering without receiving validation. So I asked my primary care doctor in Long Beach, New York, to test me for it. He reluctantly did.

My heart was racing as I sat in his examining room. This was the moment when my gut feeling would be validated – or not. Maybe it was just psychosomatic. Maybe I didn’t have the virus and this was all in my head. No, a stubborn voice told me. This is not in your head. You are not making this up. You have the virus!

The tall, skinny doctor walked in wearing an outdated maroon and beige striped shirt, nerdy wire-rimmed glasses, his thick, wavy black hair looking very Kramer-ish. He slid the lab results out of a folder.

“Well?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the cold, steel examining table.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“I do have an active Epstein Barr infection?”

He hesitated. Sighed. Rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said with irritation. “Everyone has this virus. Listen, I think you’re having a hard time dealing with the fact that you have Crohn’s disease. I’m going to give you a referral to a psychiatrist, it can help.”

I felt my face get hot, my muscles tighten and a great inspiration to shout what a condescending dickhead he was. I knew my symptoms weren’t depression. I knew my symptoms weren’t Crohn’s disease. In fact, I didn’t believe I had Crohn’s disease. My intuition negated that diagnosis the minute it was made. In a few more years, I’d receiveΒ  validation that I was right about that one, too.

That inner nagging, the kind that isn’t just a hunch, it actually makes you feel anxious, uneasy, panicky – that is your intuition screaming to get through to you. Your guardian angel may send you signs, but you miss them. Your heavenly guides may try other ways to get through to you, but you’re still not getting it. Then the Divine awakens your inner GPS and when the doctors are telling you turn left, all you hear is turn right and if you don’t turn right you just know you’re going to get lost. So you start to feel anxious. And if you’re unsure of what direction to take next, you’re stuck in a conundrum. You know this doesn’t feel right, but you’re not sure what your other options are. That’s when doubt and fear take hold and say, “Look, you have no proof. Just trust what they say. You need some kind of treatment, and maybe they’re right.”

If your story is anything like mine, the proof will eventually come that the condescending dickheads weren’t right, and you were all along.

Doctor’s oath: First, do no harm. Patients oath: First, trust your intuition.