Image: The hilltop beside the fishing village where the local ekklesia—the called-out ones—gather to worship the Living God. The concrete cross is not an object of worship, but simply a geographical marker where the believers meet.
My conversion was not a “nice idea” or a gradual drift into church because it seemed respectable. It was the Holy Spirit showing me, for the first time, what I really was. And it broke me.
I had been down every dead-end street I could find. Goa, parties, travelling, work, friendships – I kept thinking the next thing round the corner would finally make life make sense. But eventually I hit a wall. I realised that if I walked down one more dead-end, I would have to admit life was pointless. That was the moment another way opened up in front of me: not a wide road with crowds on it, but a small, narrow path.
The conviction of the Holy Spirit doesn’t flatter you. He doesn’t tell you that you’re “basically a good person who just needs a bit of religion.” He shows you the truth. I saw my own sin, my selfishness, my pride, the way I had lived as if God did not exist. It was like looking in a mirror for the first time. I wasn’t destroyed, but I was in pieces – like a smashed pot on the floor.
That breaking was not cruelty. It was mercy. The old me had to die. The Bible says we are crucified with Christ and that the old self is put to death. Scripture also says what every honest Christian knows: you still feel that old self hanging around your neck like a dead man you drag behind you. I understood what the Apostle Paul meant – the new heart was real, but the old habits, the old temptations and shadows were still there, trying to pull me back.
From that point on, everything changed. My heart and mind were different. I didn’t see the world the same way. Things I once shrugged off as “just life” now looked like poison. I wasn’t suddenly standing in the street judging everyone – I could see that I was the problem. But I also knew that certain things had to go. Certain places. Certain patterns. Certain friendships.
In the end, I lost all my old friends. They didn’t want Christ; they wanted the old version of me. They were happy enough for me to believe in God in private, as long as I left my shoes and my Christianity at the door when I visited. Eventually it was clear to all of us that it couldn’t go on like that. I stopped going round. They treated me differently. They sounded different. We agreed it was for the best, but it still hurt.
My conversion was not a Pentecost-style experience with shouting, singing, and tongues. There was no choir in the background. It was quieter and more painful than that. It was me on the ground, many times, saying things that are between me and God. It was the Holy Spirit convicting me of sin, breaking me, and then, very slowly, beginning to build me back up again in Christ.
That is what I mean when I say my journey really did go from Goa to the Gospel. I gave my life to Christ before my baptism – baptism is an outward sign of the inward work of the Holy Spirit. I was baptised on Sunday 8th October 2017.
Why there’s an audio version Some readers prefer to read at their own pace. Others (especially when eyesight, energy or health make reading harder) may find listening easier. So, I’ve added an audio option—feel free to relax, sit back and listen, or carry on reading—whichever suits you best.
When Life Changes Overnight and the Words Start Pouring Out.
There are seasons in life when everything seems to fall still. Nothing moves. Nothing grows. Days blur together, and you wonder whether anything meaningful will ever come from the place you’ve landed. And then there are seasons like the one I’m in now—unexpected, unplanned, and overflowing with more questions than answers. I didn’t intend to become a blogger. I didn’t expect writing to become a lifeline. And I never imagined that my circumstances, difficult as they are, would open the door to a whole new way of living. But here I am, a newcomer to WordPress and a head full of ideas, and enthusiasm that is old news to the veterans of blogging.
I should probably explain how I got here.
A Life Changed in a Single Week.
In April 2025, a GP started a chain of events that led to a misdiagnosis and a botched medical procedure which went horribly wrong and left me with permanent damage to my lungs. My breathing has never returned to normal. I can’t stand for long, can’t do most of the physical things I used to do, and I sleep sitting up because lying flat simply isn’t possible anymore. Nights are broken into short bursts of rest—three or four hours at most in my large layback office chair—and long stretches of wakefulness. Gradually the urge and want to write has grown inside me, my mind and soul flooding with new ideas every moment, new to me anyway.
It took time to accept that life from now on had completely changed. That the world I once moved through as a free spirit had, in an instant, shrunk to a much smaller environment—housebound now, and no longer able to travel or chase the adventures I once loved. But those long waking hours did something unexpected: they gave me space—too much space sometimes—to think, to pray, and eventually, to actually start to write all these thoughts down.
Then what began as a necessity to keep me sane became a doorway.
Discovering Blogging at the Exact Moment I Needed It.
I arrived on WordPress almost by accident. I set up a simple blog website, not expecting much from it. One subscriber felt like such a victory—thank you, Christopher. Posting anything felt like a mountain climbed. I didn’t know what I was doing—I still barely do—but the moment I published my first post, I prayed, guided by Scripture:
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Phil 4:6–7 ESV 2007)
Something woke up inside me.
The quiet hours of the night suddenly weren’t empty anymore. Ideas flooded in. Thoughts that had been sitting quietly at the back of my mind began knocking loudly. Passages of Scripture lit up with new clarity. Old questions resurfaced. New questions arrived before I’d finished answering the previous ones.
And before I knew what was happening, I was writing. A lot.
I Felt Elation While Writing.
I had found a new purpose in life. With cruel new limitations, I’m always breathless. If you’re new to blogging, no one tells you what happens when the floodgates open. One minute you’re tentatively posting your first little piece; the next minute you’re wrestling with whether publishing seven posts in three days is normal at first, or why you should worry how often you post. I can write a post every two hours with a coffee break—what does it matter anyway?
I found myself producing content quicker than I’d imagined. I thought of my one or maybe two subscribers’ inboxes going off like spam. I’d publish something, sit back, listen to it read aloud with Microsoft cloud voices for a few minutes, and immediately feel the urge to write the next one. I wondered whether this was normal or whether I was alone in this unstoppable momentum. Was I supposed to slow down? Was it bad form to post every few hours? Did experienced bloggers look at this and think, “Oh dear, here we go—another newbie in overdrive”?
The irony of it made me laugh—blogging about blogging like so many have, worrying about blogging, thinking about blogging, praying about blogging… and then, of course, blogging again.
But the truth is, it doesn’t feel excessive to me, but natural. I hated writing at school and college; I was more of a story maker and teller but never wrote them down. In my twenties, my good friend said, “You should write a book, you’ve lived five lives already.”
When God Gives You Something to Say.
There is a spiritual dimension to this that I can’t ignore. There are moments in life when God sharpens your focus, clears the fog, and turns a whisper into something like a calling. I didn’t expect that to happen in this season of struggle, but it did. In fact, it happened because of it.
When your health changes, your world shrinks. But God does not shrink with it. Instead, He fills the space you have left.
Writing has become more than an experiment or something to keep my mind occupied. It has become a way to share the gospel. A way to process what I’m living through. A way to offer hope to someone who may be going through their own dark chapter. A way to obey the command to speak of Christ—to point people towards the One who holds us through every breath, even the painful ones.
And somehow, this new purpose sits comfortably inside the limitations I didn’t choose. It doesn’t require strong lungs, or long walks, or heavy lifting. It requires only the willingness to sit, to reflect, and to let the thoughts fill my mind.
Finding Purpose in a Life You Didn’t Plan.
I won’t pretend it’s easy. There are days when I miss the person I used to be—an advanced carpenter, a Rescue Diver/Divemaster, travelling, working in my trade as a carpenter to keep travelling and scuba diving in many countries. Now it’s a real struggle to clean my bungalow and cook, but if I can’t go back to that life, then I choose to move forward with this one.
I’m not meeting people anymore. I’m not out in the world in the way I once was. But I am writing, thinking, learning, praying, and starting to pour out everything God gives me.
And strangely enough, that feels like living again.
Writing hasn’t replaced everything I lost, but it has given me something new to hold on to. Something meaningful. Something that connects me to others, even if only one or two people who sneak a peek at one blog in a month. It may take decades to reach five people who want to share their thoughts with me or ask a question. However long it takes, it will be the perfect exact time.
The Joy of Beginning Again.
If you’re reading this as a new blogger yourself, maybe you know this feeling too—the rush of ideas, the excitement, the worry that you’re posting too much or too fast. Or perhaps you’re reading this while going through your own unexpected chapter of life, wondering whether anything good can come out of it.
Let me tell you what I’m learning: purpose can appear in the strangest places. Hope can take shape in the quiet hours when sleep won’t come. Creativity can rise out of a life that feels like it’s been turned on its head. And God can bring new calling out of circumstances that were never part of your plan.
I didn’t choose this path. But I’m choosing what to do with it.
It’s been an hour since my last post — I’d better crack on. And if writing is the way forward—then I’m going to keep writing.
Good day Jo. I hope you are doing well. I resonated with some of your thougts in this post, especially this one: “New questions arrived before I’d finished answering the previous ones.” I know this experience all too well. Regarding how often to blog, of course that is up to each blogger. Personally, seeing people post every few hours reminds me too much of other social media, like Facebook or Twitter. A lot of people use their blog in the same way, albeit, maybe a little bit deeper as they like to respond to daily prompts, instead of posting about how they overslept, had nothing to eat for breakfast except stale cereal since they had not gone shopping lately. Daily prompts don’t really appeal to me as far as posts for my blog- they just don’t fit what I am trying to do on my blog (even if responding to them drove more traffic.) Considering the type of writing I produce, I don’t think I could keep up a pace of being able to write something new daily.
Anyway, as I was reading your post, an old favorite verse of mine that has given me a lot of hope over the years came to mind. Isaiah 42:16: “And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.” I think this verse may fit your situation in conjunction with Isaiah 29:16: “Surely your turning of things upside down shall be esteemed as the potter’s clay: for shall the work say of him that made it, He made me not? or shall the thing framed say of him that framed it, He had no understanding?” Sometimes God allows our world to be turned upside down and we become blind in the sense of where things are going and where He will take us. But as you have shown above, a world turned upside down can still be redeemed and used by God greatly- even more we ever thought before. Never give up on God and let Him use you. Don’t worry about your blog stats but just being faithful. At the end of our days, that is the true measure of success in His eyes. God bless.
Christopher,
Your comment sent me back to Scripture, which is always a good thing. Isaiah 42:16 reminded me that when my world was turned upside down, God is upholding me through it all. He is the One who carries me, strengthens me daily, comforts me, and gently leads me forward into this new season of writing. I’ve always seen myself as clay in the hands of the Potter, our Creator, and these verses confirmed that again. My life, my limits, and this unexpected path are in His hands. And just as the body of Christ has many members with different gifts, we each serve in different ways. You write beautiful poems and reflections that connect with others like me; some write studies, some share stories — but it is the same God who arranges and uses it all. Thank you for sharing those verses and for the encouragement. P.S. If your notifications start pinging every five to seven hours because I’ve posted again, just put my notifications on vibrate :-) — God seems to be setting my schedule these days! God bless you.
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:
3 responses to “My Fight for Truth-Living With the Consequences of a Medical Nightmare”
Hello. I am truly sorry for what you have had to endure. I can’t say that I have had a very similar experience. I would offer that God is more than able to heal you, no matter what anyone else says or believes. I would encourage you not to give up on God healing you. I will pray for you as well. I also recently read a devotional series on God’s Restoration that another blogger has written. I found it very encouraging and helpful and I would recommend you checking it out if you are inclined. Here is the link: https://wordpress.com/reader/blogs/161410387/posts/1773 Cheers.
Christopher, thank you so much for reading this difficult piece and taking the time to leave such a kind and thoughtful comment. As this is my first time blogging, getting a second comment from my first subscriber on such a sensitive topic is very kind of you.
You’re right—it has been a truly difficult ordeal. But honestly, a big reason I even started this blog was because being unable to do much else left me with the time and the chance to join the Great Commission in this new, limited way. Your message is a great source of encouragement that I’m on the right track.
I particularly appreciate you saying that “God is more than able to heal you.” It’s so easy to get lost in the human failures and injustice of the situation but remembering that ultimate truth is what keeps me focused on God.
Please know that your offer to pray for me is deeply valued.
I will definitely check out the devotional series on God’s Restoration that you linked to. That theme is exactly what’s needed right now. Thank you for thinking of me and sharing that resource.
It means a lot to have your support. God bless you.
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