(bryanism on: Intuitive Experiences at Work --> Hold on, Stay Strong)
I enjoyed the community practice I'd help establish at a pharmacy owned by a pharmacist who asked me to help lighten the load at the location nestled between the local university and a very affluent community; and yes, it was very rewarding, serving old professors I'd met at pharmacy school before the boards. Near the beginning of my tenure there, I paid very close attention to this unique clientele and monitored how I asserted my opinion when it came to their well-being, and in time we struck a collective harmonic cord. 
I remember an elderly woman from the affluent community who was actually quite healthy and agile, but also burdened, regularly bringing in handfuls of prescriptions for her ailing husband. One day she confided how exhausting it was to be sole caretaker with doctors' visits, medical procedures, and all the intricacies, since most her adult kids had moved on years ago, and, of course, from that moment on, I catered to her frustration and fear of the unknown through mindful instinct/intuition (continued in comments).
Bryan-Carlton Flournoy
After many prescriptions and near one day's end, she came in once again. And on this late evening, she looked especially exhausted and discouraged as if ready to give up, while handing me more scripts and asking for her order. As I reached for a large bag of her husband's meds, I was 'told' to quickly survey what she had given me, before sending her off with the order I'd prepared earlier that day, which is when I noticed right off that some drug dosages and formulations had significantly changed.
I literally had to gently pull the bag from her hands, while saying, "Too much has changed," and, of course, she protested in a civil way explaining she was so tired and couldn't wait and that her husband needed a dose of some meds contained therein, but I wouldn't relent (staying professional the whole time); yet she was so upset she left for home to have her husband take it up with me.
Sure enough, the phone rang and it was her husband, calling most likely the very moment his wife had arrived at home with her grievance (against me).
With a kind voice he compelled, "Bryan, my wife shared her complained, but listen. Do what YOU feel is right and fill the new prescriptions according new doctor's orders, and I'll send her back out. She's tired, down and out, meaning her nerves are frazzled. Please forgive her. I understand you must do what you must do, and we appreciate it...so goodbye." he hung up as I heard 'it' in his voice.
About 45 minutes later she arrived after closing, since I had to stay later just to get them done, and I did not mind that.
She seemed a bit more cordial and relaxed, but not as talkative. She thanked me and quietly left, never giving our earlier experience another thought. But the impression I was picking up on couldn't be formulated into an idea or word of encouragement, so I kept them to myself.
Three weeks later, she walked into the pharmacy almost as if she had been waiting specifically for my shift, this time walking in with no prescriptions, but still walking straight back to the pharmacy counter to greet with me.
She started out by saying, "Bryan, I want to thank you for all you've done, and I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time. I am so impressed with you and grateful that I want to mention you to my son," she said while pulling a pad and pen from her purse asking that I write down my name, so she'd get it right. While I did this she explained that her husband had recently died. I stopped writing to focus on condolenses, but she put her hand on mine saying, "No, it was time, and as difficult as it was for me," she conveyed "it was measurably much more grueling for my husband, who tried hanging on until he knew I was ready to ready let go."
I had finished writing down my name and credentials, and handed back her pad and pen, which she put back into her purse after turning to walk away; but as she reached for the door to exit, I managed to ask, "Who is your son, by the way, ma'am?"
Almost out the door she looked back to say, "My son is the dean of our university's college of pharmacy," which is when I recognized her last name and was glad for maintaining my usual standard.
I knew why she was grateful, now that she knew like I had known, that her husband's time to transition was near; and I especially understood there would be no peace, as she'd never forgive herself for not administering the current dosages and formulation the new scripts indicated. Percieving what I had (percieved), I just wanted her to be able to say goodbye, knowing she had given her very best down to their last moment(s).