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SAVING JULIET --
MY WARRIOR MOVED IN AND
SHE WASN'T MOVING OUT ANYTIME SOON



I have a long history with precognition. I've made split-second life-and-death decisions quickly and calmly because I had been prepared somehow through precognition of events. Really, I'm as down to earth as anyone else, except I sometimes hear or see messages that others don't. I'm just more aware of subtle energy fields and have a heightened perception--that’s all.

It's hard for me to talk about these things because I expose myself to potentially harsh judgment from others. So I don't speak about it very often. But the seriousness of this situation made it clear: To save Juliet from harm, this time I had to get my husband (and maybe others) to pay attention. I could not be silent! Sharing this story may help others trust their own premonitions and inner guidance, which I believe we all have. You can learn to have a relationship with this guidance.

In 2003 I was buzzing through a typical day attempting to get far more done than humanly possible, and I was thinking about Juliet, my 14-year-old daughter. For several months, she had been coming home from school every day with headaches. She was complaining of ear, neck and jaw pain and pain behind her eyes. She'd had many colds that year. I'd been taking her to our family doctor, her pediatrician, orthodontist, dentist, TMJ specialist and to an ear, nose and throat specialist.

I was thinking out loud to my subconscious asking for guidance, "What could this be? What should I do? What is wrong?"

I felt a little tap on my right shoulder and turned around, but no one was there; I was home alone. I went back to focusing on my computer screen and heard a tapping on the bulletin board on my office wall.

A voice (in my head) said, "Have you considered that Juliet might have a brain tumor?"

I looked at the cork board next to my computer. The next month's doctors' appointments, each a second or third follow-up visit, were all there, scattered on the wall. Every doctor had an opinion of what was wrong, but mostly they wanted to medicate Juliet's pain and study her symptoms. No one had suggested an X-ray or an MRI.

Then the voice in my head said, "You're not paying attention. You think you are, as you're running around to all these doctors. Everyone is ignoring the obvious. You must integrate this information. Demand an MRI. Pay attention! Only you can solve this."

I called the ENT doctor and got a referral to the top medical center in Philadelphia.

This new fellow--Dr. R--ordered a test that revealed Juliet had some more hearing loss. She'd lost hearing in her left ear since she was a baby. We already knew that. But we didn't realize it had been getting progressively worse over the last few years. After a bit of verbal probing back and forth, Dr. R (who thought he knew everything) realized Juliet needed an MRI. I asked if he would consider an MRI not just of the ear, but her whole head, neck and jaw area. After some discussion, this was scheduled.

Dr. R called to tell me that Michael (my husband) and I needed to come in and see him. There WAS some sort of mass in her head. He assured me it was quite a common thing and easily treated, he thought.

When Michael, Juliet and I went to see him, we had a notebook in hand to start our information log and were prepared to ask a hundred questions. Dr. R was uncomfortably quiet. He studied the MRI with his back to us for about five minutes and then sat down at his computer, typed some notes and said we needed to see another doctor. He wrote the name--Dr. G--on a piece of paper, handed it to us and said his staff could schedule an appointment for us. Then he walked out. End of appointment.

I was quite confused and a bit put off by his behavior. But more important: something had happened while he was looking at the films. A vision had washed over me like an ocean wave, but this wave was like a ripple of a movie. It was slightly out of focus, but clear enough. A preamble identified its source (a most unusual experience for me). It was sent to me, sort of like an email, by the soul of Dr. R asking me to pay attention to something only I could prevent (as if his soul offered me a chance to change a pre-arranged agreement we'd had, if I chose to). Here's what I saw:

 
Michael and I were in a hospital in Philadelphia, pacing a hallway and waiting for news of Juliet in surgery. I saw Dr. R walking toward us. I knew it was very serious; something was terribly wrong. Dr. R spoke to us, saying, "This tumor was quite unusual and difficult to deal with." Once they opened up Juliet's head, they (he and the rest of the surgical team) had found something they did not expect. THEY had done the best they could, he told us. No one else could have done any better. The end result of their surgery was that Juliet was permanently disfigured for the rest of her life.

As I saw this movie play out before me, there was another message buried inside of it, waiting to be opened, almost like an attachment to an email. All I needed to do was acknowledge it and it would play for me. The next message was:

 
Dr. R was upset because he was not telling us the whole truth. His hand had caused the permanent damage to our beautiful Juliet. The other doctors had sent him to tell us the news as they wanted him to take responsibility; they wanted to separate themselves from blame for his mistake. He was defensive, sweating and visibly upset but clearly absolving himself from any blame by not giving us the whole story.

There had been disagreement in the O.R. about how to deal with this difficult surprise. Caution was suggested by the other doctors, but Dr. R, feeling overly-confident, said, “I can handle this. No problem. I've seen this before.” He went ahead, attempting something that was ill-advised, and he severed something that was not supposed to be severed.


I thought, "Jen, pay attention and remember this! You don’t want Dr. R involved in any surgery on Juliet."

We got to the front desk of Dr. R's office, and they made an appointment for us, for next month, with Dr. G. Basically it was: your co-pay is $10 and thank you and goodbye.

Still in shock over the lack of information and confused as to why we needed to see yet another doctor, I said, "Who is Dr. G?" The receptionist said, "He is head of neurosurgery at the University of Pennsylvania." I looked at Mike; he looked angry with me--like I knew something he did not. I asked the receptionist, "Does that mean Juliet could have a brain tumor?" She replied, "That's why most people go to see him. He's one of the top neurosurgeons in the country."

Visibly shaken, we all left the office. I was thinking how hard this must be for Juliet.
She was the one who was sick. I told her we would be by her side through this whole process and get the best of the best for her. I said if I could switch heads with her, I would--in a heartbeat. She told me about this film where the mother and daughter wake up one day in each other’s bodies and asked if we could rent it this weekend. She was so funny at such a serious time. She made us all laugh, thank God.

The first possible minute I could speak with Mike alone, I told him what I'd seen in Dr. R's office. I had shared my premonitions before with Mike, but he never really acknowledged them. Because they didn't happen to him, they were ignorable. This time would be different, I was hoping. We had to be on the same team, facing this disaster and our decision making together.

Mike, like most men, likes to be in control and fix things, and this certainly wasn't something Mike could easily fix. My precognition was making it more complicated. He asked, "What do you expect me to do, Jennifer?” I said, "Just hear me. Just listen. That's what I'm doing. This isn't any easier for me than it is for you, but I have learned through the school of hard knocks that this is valuable guidance being offered to me."

We are lucky to have three extended family members in the field of neurology. One of them, in Seattle, had been a student of Dr. G’s in medical school. With his help, we were in Dr. G’s office that same week.

They treated us like royalty. Dr. G spent a lot of time showing us the films and telling us what he could. There were a number of possible diagnoses. They could narrow it down (maybe) with some more advanced tests--an angiogram, a CAT scan--but wouldn't know exactly what it was until they opened her up in surgery.

Mike and I became a tight team agreeing we would spare nothing to resolve this in the best way possible for Juliet. I arranged every help imaginable for her (diet changes, essential oils, Reiki and more). We all had massages, too, so we could stay centered, focused, balanced and calm.

Mike went into high gear on the research and medical terminology. In a short time he was a pro at it. He came home every day with a new show-and-tell on what he had learned. He educated me and calmed me. As a lawyer, along with his newly-acquired knowledge and language, he could be intimidating to the doctors, demanding their attention and asking/answering questions.

During the next weeks of tests, examinations and consultations, we learned that Dr. R--the subject of my terrifying vision --would be on the surgical team if we chose to do the surgery in Philadelphia. His specialty was peeling sticky tumors away from nerves.

The operation was scheduled for December 17. They told us to go home and think about it before we signed the papers.

I kept hoping there might be another possibility besides this scary surgery. A miracle? Maybe this nightmare will go away? But every morning when I woke up, Juliet still had a tumor. This was my reality, not a horrible dream.

Meanwhile we had sent Juliet's test results to our cousins, the one in Seattle and two in California. The California cousins are a husband and wife team. Frank* is a pediatric neurologist and head of a major children’s hospital in Los Angeles. His wife Betty* had recently retired from a career as a forensic neuropathologist.

It was nearing the end of October and getting uncomfortably close to decision time regarding surgery dates and surgical teams. I said to my spirit God-like guardian, "OK, if I'm not supposed to have Dr. R touch Juliet, then I need a little bit of guidance." I asked for help and clear information within 24 hours and that it be confirmed at least three times in a one-week period. I had to be sure I was getting important information to help us make these crucial decisions.

That night I was filming a school play for my older daughter, Kira. While I was setting up the equipment, friends were asking about Juliet. As I explained THE DETAILS ... vestibular schwannoma, acoustic neuroma, hemangioma ... their eyes glazed over. Clearly this was TOO MUCH INFORMATION. Most of them wished me luck and quickly walked away.

But Leigh--a friend since our daughters were in kindergarten--lit up like a light bulb and said, "Oh yes, yes! I know exactly what you're talking about." Her brother had gone to California to have a tumor removed. “I think it was called the House EAR Clinic,” she said, but she wasn’t sure. She promised to let me know.

I remembered that our California cousins had mentioned a place that sounded similar, a world-famous hospital. They knew some of the surgeons there. I called Betty and Frank the next day.

The House Ear Institute!
Betty yelled into the phone, and then she repeated it again and again. Wait. She wasn’t certain if the name was House Ear Clinic or Institute. She checked and called back with the phone number and said the House Ear Clinic had changed its name to House Ear Institute.

Ten minutes after that, Leigh called to say her brother's surgery had been done at the House Ear Clinic. I started to giggle inside. The answer and the confirmation I had asked for were coming in only 12 hours. It had been repeated and repeated to me. Both Betty and Leigh had said the name s-l-o-w-l-y, as if they were reading from some script.

 
OK, I get it. We are to go to the House Ear Institute
in Los Angeles.

Mike came home from work, and I began easing him into what I had learned that day, eager to share my new confirmed information. He wasn't interested. He dismissed my comments, saying we certainly did not want to mess around with a place in California. Moving Juliet after major surgery, being on the West Coast, flying out there and back or driving back ... was I out of my mind? The decision about Juliet's surgery wouldn't be based on airy fairy, thin-air ESP from me! He did not want to call his cousin Frank or Leigh’s brother, despite my urging.

Mike was trying to use his intelligence to reason his way through the maze of medical information. I wanted to shake him and say, "Wake up! There's more information being given to us than what you're accessing on the Internet. Please consider what I have to offer." But I knew that approach wouldn't work.

To influence Michael's thinking, I needed more. I asked again for help from my inner source. Less than an hour later, that help walked right in my door.

Greg*, a physician and college buddy and former roommate of Mike's, arrived from California for a visit. Within minutes, he was looking at the MRI films on a glass table top with a lamp underneath and explaining that his neighbor had gone to one of the best places in the world for this type of surgery. Greg couldn’t remember the name ... I was thinking, "Yes, here is my support. Here it comes." But I kept my mouth shut. As Greg talked, Mike lost interest and left the room.

Greg called his neighbor in Los Angeles and handed me the phone. Again, I heard those words--House Ear Institute--spoken slowly. I went to hand the phone to Mike so he could hear the advice directly. Weary of yet another unprofessional opinion about what we should do for Juliet, he refused to take the phone from me.

In the kitchen chatting with Greg later, I told him everything: my precognition, my predicament, the information flow, the uncanny synchronicity. Somehow I knew he wouldn't think I was crazy. He told me that he often wasn't sure of the source of all the information he used for diagnoses. His years in medicine had taught him to trust intuition.

He said, "Jennifer, sometimes your husband can be a real stick-in-the-mud. Don’t let that old buzzard stand in your way. Tell him you're going to L.A. to check out the House Ear Institute. Maybe he will go with you. Do what you know is right."

Greg, in all his sweetness, had failed to influence Mike man-to-man as I had hoped, but he did speak directly to my soul. "Find your warrior," he told me, "and don’t waste time making Mike the problem."

This was the kick in the butt I needed (in the most loving way possible). Again that night and into the next day, I prayed for help. Without it, I would have to awaken my warrior. I was afraid, once that happened, I wouldn't be able to put her back to sleep. She's such a strong being; she frightens even me, at times (think: Sigourney Weaver fighting the Alien). I didn't want to get into a battle with Mike. We needed to work together.

The next day I asked Mike one more time in the nicest way I could to please consider this new information. He called Frank and Betty in L.A. Things started to shift.

A few minutes after that conversation, Mike called to tell me something "synchronistic" had happened. My ears perked up. He had never used that word before. Did he even know what it meant? Frank was on his way over to the House Ear Institute that very morning for meetings. He would be having lunch with the head physician and would talk with him about Juliet.

I knew a door would be opened for us through Frank's close personal contact at the Institute. Without that, we might have ended up on a waiting list for months just to get an appointment to discuss a potential surgery there. And Frank was in a position to influence Mike's thinking in a way I could not.

It finally came down to decision time. Is L.A. an option? Do we go for a visit? Mike said, "Jen, I don’t want to consider surgery in L.A. Let's go with plans as they are here in Philly. Let's just keep it simple. I'd rather be at home. Here we have friends and family, a support structure." I could feel my warrior stirring. I asked for guidance with my words and gave myself over to divine intervention. It was like jumping off a cliff.

"Over my dead body will we consider doing surgery in Philadelphia! I will simply die if I don't listen to the guidance I've received." I warned him, "I'd be happy to introduce you to my warrior, but you really don't want to meet her ... Either you get on a plane tomorrow for L.A. or I do. But if I go and I decide this is the place for us, I will take Juliet out there in a few weeks for surgery without you."

I explained: I did not need convincing that L.A. was the best place for us--he did. The words flew from my lips faster than I could think to form them. When I was finally done, Mike quietly agreed to go to L.A. (alone) the next day.

He was a changed man when he returned. The surgery was set for December 10 in Los Angeles. My inner warrior set down her armor, her sharpened sword and her antenna to the upper atmosphere and took a rest.

Juliet came out of surgery in under four hours and was walking in two days. It was not a tumor, but a thromboses hemangioma (like a large partially-dried blood clot) wrapped around the 7th cranial nerve.

The head doctor left the O.R. to explain the complexity of what they discovered when they opened her head. They had quickly changed gears to deal with the hemangioma and removed only 95% of it to preserve the nerve function. He said the hemangioma had grown through the nerve--this was not apparent at first look--and not even the most experienced surgeon in the world could have successfully removed all of it.

A wrong cut would have severed that nerve and left one side of Juliet's face permanently paralyzed, completely without expression, as if she'd had a stroke.

As I heard the doctor explaining their discoveries, careful deliberations and caution, I was weeping with joy. I knew we'd made the right decision to bring Juliet there for surgery.

Juliet bounced back to life quickly, hardly missing a beat. She was back in school by January 4th. Her resilience and determination have inspired Mike and me to face, with a more balanced perspective, the smaller day-to-day problems that arise in family life.

Juliet is now 16 and a straight-A student studying in Israel for a semester. I am a happy parent, currently visiting her while editing this story for publication.

Jennifer Stein - Pennsylvania

*names have been changed
Jennifer's email is: onwinges [at] comcast.net

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