Dusty Wentworth

What does a man do when his body turns traitor—when his voice vanishes, his muscles shake, and the only strength left is the will to endure? This is my life with Functional Neurological Disorder (FND)—a battle fought not on foreign soil, but within my own skin. Yesterday should have been a day of celebration. My new bespoke wheelchair—a bright orange Quickie Nitrum—had just arrived, coinciding with the first anniversary of my discharge from a neurological rehabilitation centre. But as so often happens now, my body responded to the surge of emotion in a cruel and unpredictable way. By the afternoon, the toll had arrived. Excruciating pain gripped me. My speech was gone entirely. Tremors and muscle spasms rocked my body without mercy. Despite the considerable amount of pain medication I take, the pain always finds a way through. By 01:30, the spasms had become so violent they resembled a seizure. In moments like that, medication is useless. You have to retreat into your mind,...

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...