How The UK NHS Tried to Ruin My Life.

This is a personal story about my recent ordeal with the NHS, a journey that began with a routine blood test and ended with my life forever changed. What I learned is that sometimes, the answers we seek aren’t in a complex diagnosis, but in the most basic things around us—like in our homes.

It all started when I went for a full blood test because of my hypothyroidism. The results came back with alarming news: I had hypercalcemia, extremely high calcium levels, along with high creatinine and signs of kidney dysfunction. My GP advised me to go straight to the local hospital’s Same Day Emergency Care (SDEC) unit.

SDEC is a diagnostic department where doctors try to figure out what’s causing symptoms, a bit like the TV series House. Over the next seven days, I went back and forth to the hospital. Each time, my blood tests showed worsening symptoms. My calcium levels were above 3.0, a point where I should have been admitted for a hydration drip, but I was sent home and told to “drink more water.” The more I drank that week, the worse I felt. I told this to Dr. Lok, the Cancer and Sarcoidosis doctor in charge of the department for that single week. This detail would be key in everything that happened next.

A Wrong Turn: The Focus Shifts.

Dr. Lok decided that because my symptoms resembled those of his patients, he immediately requested urgent lung scans with iodine, which is unheard of in the local NHS hospital. I was injected with iodine, which works like a marker pen for CT scans. The results came back, and he pointed to a small, dark area on my lung, which he suggested might be cancer or sarcoidosis.

I repeated to Dr. Lok that I was there for my kidneys and calcium levels, not a lung issue. But he insisted on a procedure: an urgent EBUS bronchoscopy was arranged. I was put under immense pressure and rushed into the procedure room. There was no time to think, no proper introduction from the medical staff. When I asked the junior registrar who was to perform the procedure if he had done it before, he said he had five years of training and that a consultant was present. He assured me I was in “good hands.”

The Unthinkable Procedure.

Before the procedure, I was injected with three different sedatives, but none of them worked. I was fully awake and conscious. The six nurses in the room were concerned and advised against continuing, but the junior registrar decided to proceed anyway.
The moment the procedure began, I was in excruciating pain. I couldn’t scream because of the tube down my throat, so I waved my arms and stamped my feet on the bed, begging them to stop.

This went on for an hour. I never saw the consultant in the room, but I heard the young registrar say, “I’m lost in the lungs. What do I do?” A voice from the corner of the room behind me—the consultant—replied, “I don’t know, I wasn’t watching. You’ll have to break procedure and hope you don’t spread infection.”
He told the registrar to go back up to where the lungs split into the right and left airways and start again, which he did. After an hour of unimaginable pain, the procedure was finally over. When I asked why they didn’t stop, they simply told me I was fine. I was then rushed to the recovery area, and despite my inability to breathe properly, they brushed it off as normal and sent me home.

The Aftermath: The Truth and The Fight.

When I got home, I knew something was terribly wrong. My breathing was severely impacted. I called for an ambulance, and three paramedics attended. The senior paramedic, who had been through the same procedure, though sedated, said, “They don’t tell you how painful it will be after for around twenty-four hours,” and then they left after a few basic tests.

It turns out the dark spot on my lung was nothing—no cancer, no sarcoidosis, and no bacterial infections. The procedure was completely unnecessary.

It was then I began to question everything. I purchased some equipment, tested my tap water, and found it had a high level of Total Dissolved Solids (TDS), at 440 TDS. The legal limit for undrinkable water in the UK is around 500 TDS, and my tap water was just below this limit. My theory was correct: drinking my tap water was making my condition worse. Within seven days of switching to a low-TDS spring water (which tested around 90 TDS) and then filtering it to bring the TDS down to 60, all my original symptoms normalized. The problem wasn’t a disease; it was my tap water.

The fight for justice against the NHS lasted for two and a half months with the patient complaints department. They dismissed my evidence, including the water suppliers’ results confirming my findings. The hospital refused to do follow-up scans that would prove the damage to my lungs was a result of a wrong diagnosis and malpractice. I received an email from the executive of the local NHS Counties who had signed off on the complaints department’s verdict that no malpractice had taken place. Although they were sorry the procedure caused what I had outlined, they protected themselves against a mountain of proof. The complaint was swept under the carpet, and I was left with only 30% of my breathing capacity.

I can no longer stand for long periods or do simple tasks like cooking or cleaning. As a rescue diver, I could once go down thirty to forty meters and rescue a diver without breaking a sweat. I am now left with the devastating, permanent consequences of a botched procedure that was never needed in the first place. My story isn’t about wanting sympathy; it’s about raising awareness. I’m just one of many who suffer in silence, and my experience highlights how difficult it is to find objective truth in a modern secular society, even within a trusted government service like the NHS.

The stress over those two and a half months was so immense that I sought professional legal help, a solicitor for a “no win, no fee” arrangement. But no solicitors would take on the NHS in a legal battle for the truth and justice. I contacted the local paper, and even they didn’t want to publish against the local hospital. They use the same hospital, so I don’t blame them.
I am grateful for every short, painful breath I can take. What would you do in my situation? Do you have any constructive thoughts or similar experiences? Please leave a message in the comments.
A personal account by Jo blogs on “Is Truth in the Way.”

Note: This is the original version of “My Fight for Truth – Living With the Consequences of a Medical Nightmare”, first published on 24 September 2025. A lightly updated repost, together with Part 2, is now available here: