The impossible post
This is a post that’s rather more about me than normal (though a lot of my blog posts do just show nice work that I’ve done). This is more personal, and not much fun, and is just a way of letting you know what’s going on, after what’s been a rather mixed week.
After returning from Ethiopia (for the rather ace Toilet Twinning) two weeks ago, I’ve been feeling a bit breathless when running and climbing the stairs, and finally Ingrid managed to persuade me to go to the doctor, who suspected malaria or a blood clot possibly. Following chest x-rays and blood samples, they sent me to another hospital in Sheffield, where it became clear that the problem was more to do with my blood. 24 hours later (last night) I was diagnosed with leukaemia. I’ll be in hospital for most of the next six weeks or so, which wasn’t really how I planned to spend the summer.
I’m saying this so that people who know me and who I’ve not managed to be in touch with will hear (apologies if that’s you – I know this isn’t a great way to get this news – some of you might have emails at your work addresses on Monday morning). I’m hoping to still be on email most of the time, so if you know me, feel free to send me a message – I might not get back to you immediately but it’d be lovely to hear from you. And also so that people (if there are any) who watch my posts on here, will know why its gone a bit quiet.
If you are a person of faith (as I am), I’d love you to pray for me. But even if you can’t do that, I appreciate your support and friendship – the cliche of difficult times revealing the friendships that matter is already proving true, and as a family we’re incredibly grateful for all the support we’ve already received.
The picture at the top of the page is from Hossana in Ethiopia, taken on the drive back from our first day working – I hope you see the strength, hope and beauty in this.
My father sent me a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer:
God, gather and turn my thoughts to you. With you there is light, you do not forget me. With you there is hope and patience. I don’t understand your ways, but you know the way for me.
I’m not sure that’s how I feel yet, but (as Liz Lemon might say),
I want to go to there.
richard hanson :: photographer :: sheffield