When Intuition Won't Shut Up

Do you believe in signs, in intuition, in that quiet feeling that something just isn’t right? I do. And in my case, it was life‑saving.

For about two weeks, I had a mole on my arm that wouldn’t stop itching. It was a mole I thought had been there forever… or at least, that’s what I told myself. Truth is, I didn’t even know it existed until it started itching. But I convinced myself I’d simply stopped noticing it, the same way I don’t even see my tattoos in the mirror anymore. It’s strange how the brain edits things out.

It kept itching, and something in me felt off. I told myself I’d monitor it for a week, and if it didn’t settle, I’d book a skin check. Naturally, I Googled it. Google informed me that any mole that itches, bleeds, changes, or scabs needs medical attention. And because Google has zero chill, it also gently suggested I was probably dying. I’ve learned that Google’s favourite medical diagnosis is always cancer.

After a week, the itching hadn’t stopped. So, I booked the appointment.

I was hesitant to go because the last time I’d seen a skin specialist, the doctor was a little too touchy‑feely, and the way he looked at me made my skin crawl. After that, I convinced myself that every skin doctor was a creep waiting for an excuse to cross a boundary. Irrational? Sure. But fear doesn’t care about logic.

There’s even a name for that kind of avoidance — iatrophobia. It’s a fear of doctors or medical appointments that leads people to delay care. I learned about it during my psychology degree, so I recognised the pattern in myself immediately. I knew exactly what I was doing. Avoidance feels safe until it isn’t.

I shouldn’t have waited so long. My body has its own constellation of tiny stars, the kind you stop seeing because they’re as familiar as the night sky. But I’m not trained to read the sky — I don’t know which stars are anomalous, the ones that look fine until someone trained tells you they’re not.

But my hesitation went deeper than iatrophobia or creepy doctors.

My Nanna had a cough she ignored for too long, and by the time she finally went to hospital, it was emphysema. She died a week later. Watching her ignore her symptoms until it was too late embedded a fear in me — a fear of what doctors might find, and a fear of dying from cancer.

Still, I made sure I went.

I showed the doctor the itchy mole, explained the symptoms, and he barely blinked. He told me it was basically just a freckle, used some medical term I can’t remember, and said it wasn’t concerning.

He didn’t explain why it was itchy, and something still didn’t feel right. So, while I was there, I pushed myself to get the rest of my moles checked.

That’s when everything changed.

He examined my back and immediately found two suspicious moles he was extremely concerned about. He told me they needed to be removed and biopsied.

The week of waiting was agonising. I had to go back in person for the results. I remember sitting in the waiting room, legs bouncing, checking the clock every few minutes, running every worst‑case scenario through my head. Doctors never run on time, so add frustration to fear and you get the perfect storm.

When my name was finally called, I sat down and braced myself.

Two melanomas.

My heart went straight to my throat. He explained that they were in situ, meaning they hadn’t spread. Early. Contained. Treatable. I felt grateful, but that didn’t erase the fact that it was still melanoma — a cancer that can turn fast and dangerous once it becomes invasive. Not something anyone wants to hear.

He removed a wider section of tissue to make sure everything was gone and to lower the chance of it coming back.

And here is the part that still hits me:

The itchy mole which turned out to be nothing but a freckle, itchy for no reason at all, is the reason I went in. My intuition made me get the rest of my skin checked. If I hadn’t listened to that feeling, and my body hadn’t given me a sign that something was wrong, I probably would’ve kept putting it off (another thirteen years, maybe not at all) and I wouldn’t be here today writing this.

It’s been a couple of years now. I’ve gone from six‑monthly checks to yearly ones. I found a doctor I trust. One who isn’t a creep. And I’m pushing myself out of my comfort zone because I want to live a long life.

So if you’re reading this and you haven’t had a skin check in a while, please go. And if your body or your gut tells you something isn’t right, don’t ignore it. Sometimes the sign is the feeling itself.

Image credit: Image by macrovector on Freepik