Dusty Wentworth

There’s a moment in every life that feels like a complete reset—a line dividing who I was from who I am now. For me, that day was 3 April 2024. That afternoon, I managed to wheel myself to the local shop for the first time, supported by a physiotherapy assistant. It felt like a small victory—an ordinary act, yet monumental after everything. But on the way back—barely 100 metres from the centre—everything changed. Suddenly, it was as if an axe had split my skull. My body turned to jelly, drenched in sweat—hot and sticky, like I’d been plunged into boiling water. My left arm went limp, numb. I couldn’t self-propel anymore. By the time we reached the car park, I could barely speak. I was wheeled straight to my room; staff took my vitals as I slumped in the chair, unable to transfer to the bed. I remember the nurse calling for an ambulance. Then—blackness. The next thing I heard was the low mooing of cattle. I thought I was in a barn, perhaps during the American Civ...

It Started Like Any Ordinary Day I was playing a video game with my children, home for the half-term holidays—just laughter and shared moments. Then I stepped into the living room and collapsed. Pain exploded in my head. My vision vanished. My wife called an ambulance. By the time paramedics arrived, I had lost my speech and was convulsing. I was rushed to hospital and sent straight to the stroke unit. But after a brain scan ruled out a stroke, I was redirected to A&E. A Hidden Threat A doctor noticed blood in my eyes and referred me to an optometrist. With no clear answers, I was discharged. That night, an anxious consultant called. I should never have been sent home. The scan revealed a brain aneurysm, and they feared it was leaking. I returned to A&E the next morning. But no one knew why I was there. I deteriorated in the waiting room. A lumbar puncture was eventually done—too late to be conclusive. Within 24 hours, I was blue-lighted to Addenbrooke’s Hospital. T...