Dusty Wentworth

  April 3rd does not arrive quietly. It sits there in the calendar like a marker you cannot ignore. Not a date you move past, but one you circle back to whether you want to or not. Two years ago, on April 3rd 2024, my brain aneurysm ruptured. At the time, I was already an inpatient in a neurological rehabilitation centre, trying to get a handle on Functional Neurological Disorder. I was already in the system. Already under observation. Already someone needing help. And still, everything changed in a moment. That matters. Because there is a quiet assumption people make about medical events. That if you are in the right place, under the right care, things will be contained, managed, resolved. That assumption does not survive contact with reality. What followed has not been a clean narrative of recovery. It has been two years of disruption, loss, adaptation, and, at times, a kind of forced recalibration of who I am. This is not a story about overcoming. It is a record of what re...

Summer. Just the word itself conjures up images of sunshine, ice cream drips, and the delightful chaos of kids who suddenly forget what bedtime means. For me, this summer isn't just about longer days and warmer nights; it marks a pretty significant milestone—my first real summer holiday as a dad on wheels, and a new kind of adventure for our whole family! After spending 11 months in hospital, and now 10 months post-discharge, this season isn't just a stretch of warmth and light. It's my first real test in this new life. Since returning home, I've been locked in a daily battle—not just with the physical consequences of my condition, but with the psychological toll that disability can exact. Adapting to life with new physical limitations is one thing; it's another entirely to confront the emotional weight of a fractured identity. Losing 14 years of memory has created a chasm in my life—memories of raising my children, memories of love, struggle, growth—gon...