Dusty Wentworth

Surviving the rupture changed everything — now I live in a body I barely recognise, searching for meaning in the wreckage. The doctors didn’t expect me to survive my subarachnoid haemorrhage. Some days, I wish I hadn’t. At 36, I was a fit, strong infantry soldier. At 50, I woke blind in one eye, unable to walk, with more than 14 years of my life erased. Survival didn’t mean carrying on with life as it was. It meant waking into a stranger’s body, holding memories that don’t feel like mine, and living with pain that never lets up. The Hole in My Timeline I don’t remember getting married. I don’t remember my children being born. These are the moments most fathers carry as treasures — and for me, they are emptiness. I look at wedding photos and see a stranger in my place. I hear stories of my children’s milestones and can’t recall a second of them. For me, those memories don’t exist. People pressured me: “Do you remember this? Do you remember that?” as if badgering me could som...

I woke to the sound of the alarm. Through my half-closed eyes I could just about make out 06:30 glowing on the clock. Bloody rude, I thought — it’s the school holidays! But reality bites: these days, it can take me as long to get from bed into my wheelchair as it once took me to shower, dress, and be ready to leave the house. I need a head start on life now. Breakfast was the usual 14 tablets washed down with fresh coffee. Then another coffee. And another. Look, one helps me wake up and the other is just because I love coffee, alright? Don’t judge me. By 8am the car was loaded: wheelchair, pushchair, cool bags, three children, and two emotionally drained adults just trying to survive the summer holidays. Destination: Africa Alive in Kessingland, Suffolk. Now, as a Norfolk lad, any foray into Suffolk has to be treated as a covert operation. Football fans will understand — it’s not just about Norwich City (the mighty Canaries) versus Ipswich Town (the Tractor Boys). The rival...