Dusty Wentworth

I didn’t wake gently. I woke confused.   After nearly four weeks unconscious, the doctors didn’t expect me to survive. But I did. I remember a strange sound—low, soft, like a cow’s distant moo.   When I opened my eyes, I was convinced I’d woken up in a barn-turned-hospital during the American Civil War.   The smell, the air, the eerie stillness—it all felt real. Then the vision faded.   A nurse was beside my bed. I couldn’t quite hear her—my hearing had been severely damaged, and everything felt distant, tilted.   But I was awake.   Still here.   And even though I didn’t know where I was, something deep inside whispered: start something. 🏥 How My Journal Became My Voice It began as a tool.   An occupational therapist suggested keeping a journal—to help me track the moments, emotions, and memories I feared might slip away. With help from a healthcare assistant, I downloaded the Diarium app to my ...